


heliotrope

by zogratiscest



Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Murder, Brotherly Affection, Child Abuse, Chronic Illness, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fae & Fairies, Incest, M/M, Mild Blood, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recovery, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Vomiting, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 122,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27324067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zogratiscest/pseuds/zogratiscest
Summary: finral roulacase is the shame of house vaude and the center of his little brother's world. if saving langris's life means exposing a secret his parents have kept for the last thirteen years, then he will carry that weight on his shoulders for langris's sake.
Relationships: Finral Roulacase/Langris Vaude, Rill Boismortier/Charmy Pappitson (Background)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

The main room of the Black Bulls headquarters is in disarray, something Finral Roulacase notices as soon as he creeps down the stairs. Their group is one of misfits loosely stitched together to resemble a competent Magic Knights squad, but their captain seems confident enough in all of his choices that Finral never questions it. What right does he have, when there is no other squad that would have taken him in to begin with?

He steps around something smoldering ominously on the floor, briefly wondering what piece of furniture it  _ might _ have been before Magna and Luck engaged in another battle to the death. Even locked away in his room, preparing for his trip home, Finral could hear the muffled sounds of Magna’s shouts, Luck’s laughter, and the sizzle and pop of fire and lightning. No matter what it takes, Luck always finds a way to wind his best friend up so he can satisfy the constant need for battle that sparks through his veins.

Neither of them are present right now, but loud conversation and arguing filters through the air just the same. Finral carefully picks his way around a few empty bottles of alcohol on the floor, eyes scanning the room for his captain. He huffs a sigh when he sees the man nowhere in sight and wonders where he might have gotten off to today.

“Do you need something, Finral?” The voice is silky smooth and quiet, goosebumps rolling down Finral’s spine as his head swivels toward the man poised in his captain’s favorite chair. “Or are you looking for Yami? Because he just left about an hour ago.”

Of course he did. “I’m heading home. I was going to tell him I’d be gone for a few days.”

“Oh, that’s right. You did say something about that last night, didn’t you?” Pale blue eyes consider him briefly before pale lips quirk into a strange smile. “How quaint.”

Yami Sukehiro, captain of the Black Bulls, is an easy man to learn to get along with. He pushes all of them as hard as possible, refusing to accept anything less than their hardest work, but Finral grew up in the House of Vaude. Yami’s methods to encourage them to surpass their own limits are far less brutal than those of his parents and his childhood tutors. His captain also never bats a lash when Finral needs to slip out for a few days to visit home, the bag on his back full of another selection of gifts for his brother.

But their vice captain is a different matter entirely. Finral wonders what it is about Nacht that made Yami decide he was worthy of the promotion in the first place.

“We aren’t… Doing anything right now, so.” Finral adjusts the strap of the bag where it cuts across his chest and shrugs. Talking to Nacht always makes him uncomfortable.

Nacht hums softly, curling a hand beneath the point of his chin as he peers up at Finral through long dark lashes. “Mm, I’m well aware. That’s why Yami is gone.”

“Do you have any particular issue with me leaving?” Finral never drops Nacht’s gaze when the two of them speak even if instinct alone tells him something about the man is not quite right. As if Nacht has ever been anything less than a perfectly adequate Magic Knight.

“No. I suppose not.” Nacht smiles up at him, but the expression never quite reaches his eyes. “Go have fun visiting your little brother. I’m sure he misses you.”

“He always seems to every time we meet again.” The mention of his brother is enough to make something warm and hopeful stir in Finral’s chest, because his relationship with his brother has been untainted, untouched. “I kind of feel bad sometimes, you know? Having to leave him behind. But he’ll get his grimoire one day, and then maybe…”

Maybe he can join the Black Bulls, and Finral will never have to leave him behind again.

“He’s a rather sickly child, isn’t he? I’ve heard you talk to Yami about him.” Nacht cocks his head, expecting an answer even if it makes Finral uneasy. Nacht never asks about Langris.

To be fair, of course, Finral never talks about him to Nacht. Finral tries to avoid talking about his family altogether when it comes to Nacht, because… He knows enough to know the topic may not exactly be taken well. “He is, ah, but he’s doing his best to recover.”

“Yami mentioned him to me once. Still unsure about what exactly is wrong with him?” Nacht’s voice lilts just slightly. The bottom of Finral’s stomach drops.

“Well, I’m not a doctor, so it’s a bit beyond me to figure it out. But Langris has some of the best healers attending him when he needs it.” That was the part of Finral’s childhood he wishes he could forget the most. Watching strangers rush in and out of his little brother’s room to check on him, trying to stifle his coughs so he could breathe through the night.

“Perhaps that’s all that can be done. Perhaps not. Who can know these things?” Nacht twists in Yami’s chair, pressing his slender back against one of the arms, throwing long legs over the other as he reclines. “But you two do seem to be quite close.”

There is nothing Finral can say to that, swallowing hard around the knot in his throat and offering a brief nod in answer. He knows enough about Nacht. Not nearly as much as Yami, and perhaps some other former members of the squad they were in together, but  _ enough _ to know this topic is a dangerous one. The less he says, the less likely he is to spark Nacht’s temper, the sharp edge of his tongue that cuts through muscle and bone.

Not that Finral can blame him for that. He might become the same in this position.

“Well, that’s good, then. Gives him something to look forward to to break up the monotony of illness.” Nacht tips his chin up, and Finral nods again. “Go ahead and go see your brother. I don’t know if Yami will be back before this evening, but I’ll let him know you’re gone.”

“Thank you, vice captain.” Finral bows his head, ignoring the way Nacht chuckles at him.

Crisis averted, at least for now. He can leave the house without incident and without pissing off the only person in the squad who truly scares him down to the core.

Finral gives the room another cursory glance as he drifts toward the front door, not willing to pause even long enough to give Nacht a proper goodbye lest the man change his mind. He doubts Nacht would physically stop him from leaving the house if Finral just turned his back and ignored a rejection to his request, but something in the man’s voice commands those around him to listen. Not to disobey. Much like Yami in that way, really.

Then he darts out the door into the warm afternoon sunlight and collides with someone.

“Ouch!” The familiar voice startles him out of his reverie entirely as he throws his arms out to catch his balance. “You really need to look in  _ front _ of you when you walk.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, Rill.” Finral gives himself a shake and straightens up, not needing to offer a hand to help anyone up because Rill never falls. Hard to knock someone off of his feet when he tends to flutter at least a foot above the ground when he travels. Feet just seem to be a mere decoration when it comes to his kind.

When Finral first joined the Black Bulls, there was never anything unusual or strange about them other than how mismatched they would be as a group. Finral was one of the earliest members and even he could tell Yami liked picking odds and ends up to fit together, and that never bothered him. But then came Charmy, and after Charmy… Came Rill.

The afternoon is a bright and sunny one, golden light lying softly on the rich green grass, filtering through the leaves to leave dappled patterns on the ground. Sunlight also highlights Rill’s wings, making them glitter softly as they flutter softly in the warm breeze. They match his eyes, a delicate pale pink with a darker, richer shade curling in vivid lines to the very edges and match the delicate swirls of magenta that decorate his cheeks. Rill is not the first fae Finral has ever seen in his life, but he is the first Finral has ever personally known, the first he has properly met.

Rill laughs softly at him, the sound almost musical as he hovers inches above the dirt path leading down from the door at Finral’s back. “It’s all right! You looked really distracted.”

“I’m about to go home for a few days. I guess I was just caught up thinking about that.” Better than admitting how much Nacht unsettles him, though he thinks Rill might understand that just as well. “I guess you’ve come to see Charmy today?”

“If she’s here, I am!” Rill claps his hands, a delighted little smile on his face that Finral knows well, the one he only wears where Charmy is concerned. “Do you know if she is?”

“I don’t, but Nacht is just inside, so you can ask him where she is.” Likely, Charmy is spending her time in the dining hall with her sheep, but Rill knows to check there first.

The brightness of his smile fades slightly as Rill glances toward the door. “Your vice captain, hmm? Well… I’ll just look for her myself first before I bother him!”

“Probably the best thing you can do for yourself, yeah.” Finral bites back a smile; even someone as powerful as Rill is hesitant around Nacht, so Finral feels a touch less paranoid about his own feelings. “You know her usual spots, so you should be able to find her. Did you bring your paint with you, too, or are you just here to talk to her?”

Immediately, the brightness of that smile ratchets back up until it rivals the cheeriness of the sun above their heads. “She let me leave it here last time. So now I have some here and some at home, and I never have to take them from place to place. Isn’t that nice?”

_ Oh, really? _ “Very nice for you. I didn’t know you’d gotten to that point.”

Rill’s smile turns small and secretive as he leans closer, the flutter of his wings enveloping Finral in a cloud of sweet honey and flowers that never fails to make him feel warm down to the core of his bones. Something about Rill just… Soothes him, somehow. “Just a couple of visits ago. I think this means she’s really starting to like me, too!”

“Well, you’ve been patient and resilient, I think.”  _ Think _ is the operative word here. Finral gives them as much space as he can when Rill visits, so he has no idea what they get up to.

The temptation to spy has been very high, and his spatial magic makes it an easy enough task, but he never does it. Better to let young love blossom, or something.

“She’s just so  _ lovely, _ you know? She’s so funny, so warm.” Rill tilts himself back in midair and Finral wonders if he can just tumble to the ground like that. Or if he could turn himself fully upside down without falling. “I just like her so much, Finral.”

“You picked a very good woman to fall for.” Finral chuckles when Rill laughs up into the air, throwing his arms wide as if he intends to embrace the warmth of the day.

Just as easily, he swings forward again, toes skimming the ground beneath him. “You think so? Then I’m glad, because you know Charmy, and you’d know best. Maybe one day I can even take her to visit the forest! But not until I have permission to do that.”

The fae forest… Finral says nothing. There is knowing Rill personally, knowing that there are fae children raised by human parents, and then there is knowing that people who have gone into that forest never return. If Rill took Charmy to “visit,” Finral might never see her again, and he isn’t exactly keen to lose one of his squad mates forever.

“That’s still a long way off, probably.” Rill’s smile turns wistful, and then his eyes shift and focus, sharp and sudden, on Finral’s face. “”You said you were going home, right? So you’re going to see your little brother. The one you always talk so much about.”

“I don’t talk about him to  _ you, _ ” Finral protests, but he does talk about Langris to Charmy— And most of the rest of the Black Bulls, for that matter. And anyone else who will listen.

He is  _ not _ as bad as Gauche, though, he stands by that no matter what.

Rill waves a hand through the air. “That doesn’t matter. I have a present for you to take back to him, if you want! It’s something a friend made, and it might make him feel better for a little bit. Or it might not. It shouldn’t have any adverse effects, though.”

Oh. “Rill, you don’t have to do that. Most of the healers have never been able to do any—”

“But it might help. Don’t you want to try?” Rill is already ignoring him, rifling through the small satchel at his hip. No painting supplies today, so maybe he just brought more strange, interesting presents for Charmy. “If it won’t hurt him even if it doesn’t work, then it won’t hurt at all. Right? You can just tell him it’s a drink from a foreign land.”

He pops a bottle out of the satchel and holds it up for Finral to see. The glass is thick but clear so that Finral can see the pale green contents inside, something thick and opaque that he doubts Langris would be willing to drink. He knows from experience how picky his little brother is when it comes to food and drink, and how often squabbles with their parents would turn into full-blown arguments over what Langris should and should not eat.

But no use in hurting Rill’s feelings unnecessarily, so Finral smiles politely and accepts the gift, brushing a finger over the small bundle of leaves tied around the neck of the bottle. “Thank you, I’ll tell him just that. And you’re right. If it doesn’t hurt at all, he can try it.”

“That’s the spirit. And if it helps, I can always bring back more. It’s from a friend, and he’s very good at such things.” Rill’s hands are delicate and warm as they settle on Finral’s cheeks, reminding him that Rill is as touchy as they come. “I know I’ve never met your brother, but I hope he gets better. Because I can tell you love him a lot.”

The words settle hot and heavy inside of Finral’s rib cage, curling around his heart and offering him some measure of comfort. He talks about Langris a lot to anyone who will listen. He rarely talks about his concerns to others, though. “Thank you, Rill.”

“It’s my pleasure to at least try to help.” Rill darts in faster than Finral can react, his lips as delicate as the small feet of a butterfly as he pops a kiss on Finral’s forehead. “I won’t keep you any longer. I know you must be anxious to get home and see him.”

“I am, and thank you.” Finral carefully sets the bottle in his bag, feeling some of the tension ease its way from his muscles. Fae are strange creatures. Sometimes he wonders about that old story, knowing Rill as he does. “Have a good day with Charmy, all right?”

“Of course, of course. Have a fun trip home.” Rill flutters past him, and Finral clicks his tongue when a few particles of pale pink dust flutter down to land on the sleeve of his shirt. Fae dust is rare, but not with Rill coming to visit so frequently.

He never questions how Rill met Charmy or where, or what she did that interested him so much to have him coming back to see her time and time again. None of that is really his business, and Rill is so eccentric that he might have simply  _ seen _ her and decided she was worth chasing after to potentially make his own one day in the future.

Fae are strange. Even those who live alongside humans, who grew up with them for most of their lives, are different enough that one can tell without a second glance that something about them is different— Aside from their wings and facial markings, of course. And their ears, distinctly longer with pointed tips compared to a human’s ears. Even if a fae  _ looked _ human, Finral thinks it might be possible to tell them apart from humans easily.

But Rill is kind if strange, and Finral has never had any problems with him, and Charmy must like him at least a little if he can leave his things behind at their house now. Good for them. Finral smiles briefly at the thought of Yami arguing with the rest of the Magic Knight captains about adopting a fae into their squad, and then draws himself a portal.

Even his inoffensive spatial magic has its uses, after all. Like getting home quickly.

It still takes him more mana than he would like, but his time with the Black Bulls has allowed him to increase the size of those portals and how long he can keep them open. Just a little more each day, he’s coming into his own as a proper mage.

Still, the smile fades from his face as soon as he steps through the portal to home.

None of that effort and hard work matters as far as House Vaude is concerned, and Finral knows that better than anyone else. Standing in front of the grand and imposing structure of his childhood home only serves to remind him of this, but his body refuses to tense and coil in the pain of those memories. As if the brief kiss Rill gave him is enough to keep those feelings at bay, the sense of lightness on his shoulders not abating.

_ Thank you, Rill. _ He touches his forehead briefly and smiles, then starts up the long path to the main house. Langris will be waiting for him, after all, and Finral misses him.

If he has any luck in the world, his parents will be occupied or out of the house, and neither of them would drop anything to come see him right away. A few stolen moments away with just Langris, where Finral can spoil him with presents and affection.

His heart aches fiercely, and then the warmth of Rill’s words soothes the pain and leaves him feeling calm. Fae are strange creatures, indeed.

Before he reaches the front doors of the manor, they swing inward and a small, familiar figure darts down the steps toward him.  _ Langris, _ barefoot in what looks like the shirt of Finral’s he sleeps in still to this day, hair ruffled from where he must have been in bed. Another bad day— But he sprints toward Finral as fast as he can and who is Finral to deny him? It’s good he brought a bag. He would drop anything he’s carrying for Langris.

“Nii-san!” Bare feet slap against the path as Langris runs to him, and Finral meets him halfway, arms thrown wide for him. Just like he always does. Just like he always will.

“I’m here!” Finral laughs a little, helpless to do anything about the light, airy squeeze of his heart at seeing his little brother again, bracing himself to catch Langris’s delicate weight.

His heart stops for a moment when Langris trips and tumbles forward, but Finral is faster now. More sure of himself. The ground shimmers with his magic in seconds, and he shifts his arms as the air above him glitters in tandem. Langris falls through one portal and out of the second, landing in a tangle of thin, gangly limbs right in Finral’s waiting arms.  _ Perfect. _

The swell of pride at his own reaction speed gives way to almost painful fondness when Langris laughs and throws his arms around Finral’s neck, squeezing so tight it almost hurts. It makes his eyes prickle just slightly with tears. “That was  _ amazing, _ nii-san.”

“I couldn’t let you fall, could I?” Finral pulls Langris tight to his chest, careful not to squish him because he knows who the stronger is between the two of them. “Not when you got up out of bed to come see me. Should you be out of bed today, Langris?”

Langris huffs and tightens his grip on Finral, small hands fisting in the fabric of his cloak and clutching it. “I don’t care. I wanted to see you. I can always go back to bed.”

“Just as long as it doesn’t make you sick, little brother.” Finral shifts Langris higher in his arms, turning his head so he can press a kiss into soft, feathery chestnut hair that gleams beautifully in the sunlight. “Where are Mother and Father? Do they know you’re up?”

“No. They’re having company over so they don’t know. I was careful not to run past that room.” Langris leans back to look up at him, and Finral’s stomach twists. His small cheeks and forehead are flushed pink, most likely with fever. He really should be back in bed.

“Well, how about I take you back up to bed and they never have to know you escaped, hmm? Except for your small dirty feet.” Finral bumps their foreheads together and Langris giggles, then tucks his face in against Finral’s neck. His very warm face.

Fever, then. Not unusual, and not the worst Langris has experienced especially in the last few years, so Finral counts this as potentially a good day. Langris is up and moving around, up and  _ running _ even if for only a brief moment, which is better than the last time Finral saw him. He spent that entire visit in Langris’s room, not wanting to be away from him for even a moment. So pale and sick then, struggling to keep anything he ate down…

Today is a better day than that, so Finral will accept this gift for what it is.

“Did you bring me presents?” Langris asks, twisting around in his arms. Finral can feel a small hand brush over the strap where it cuts across his shoulder blade, and it brings a small smile to his face. “You better have. You always bring me presents.”

“Of course I did. What kind of big brother would I be if I didn’t have presents for you?” Finral tucks his cheek down against the fluffy mass of Langris’s hair, ensuring he has a firm grip on the wriggling little body in his arms. The last thing he wants to do is drop him, especially when Langris quite literally tried to run into his arms.

His heart gives such a pitiful throb that he might have to amend his earlier thought that he and Gauche are nothing alike. Maybe they have a few things in common after all.

“You’d still be a good one,” Langris insists. “I just like all the presents you bring me.”

“I’m glad you have such faith in me.” Finral laughs when Langris tries to make a grab for the bag, giving his thigh a little smack that earns him a huffy whine in answer. “Let’s get your feet washed off and get you back in bed, and  _ then _ you can have your presents.”

“Are there snacks? I like the snacks.” Langris grins up at him, and Finral’s breath catches at the way the pink in his soft little cheeks brings out the luminous glow of his eyes, a rich color forever suspended between blue and green that puts every gemstone to shame.

He gathers himself quickly when Langris frowns up at him and cocks his head, clearly waiting for an answer as they step back into the quiet shadows of the house. “Yes, I brought you snacks. I know how much you look forward to trying new things.”

The servants throughout their house bow their heads in acknowledgement of Finral’s presence in the house, and he nods in return as he carries Langris back upstairs to his bedroom. With how quiet the house is, he would have known his parents have someone important over without having to be told. Finral grew up here, after all, and he remembers how often every inhabitant of House Vaude walked in eggshells during these visits.

As if he cares. He just focuses on the warm, familiar weight in his arms— Too slight, because Langris has trouble gaining weight with his illness. And too small, but again, Finral understands. How is his brother supposed to grow when his body is so frail?

Langris has an ensuite to himself, so Finral carries him straight to the bathroom so he can wash the dirt off of his feet. Hard to make it seem like he’s been in bed the whole time if he leaves dirty marks on the sheets, and Finral doesn’t want his parents to be upset.

Not with Langris. They can be angry with Finral as much as they want, but not the baby.

“Next time, put on shoes before you come running outside.” Finral sets him on the sink counter, reaching past him for a washcloth and to twist the water taps.

It puts him in exactly the compromising position Langris needs to lean forward and hug him again, face nuzzling against the front of his neck. Warm breath whispers against his skin, and Finral feels momentarily unsteadied. “I will. I wish I could just teleport to you.”

“Why? Your spatial magic is so much cooler than mine.” Finral drops a kiss on top of Langris’s head, wetting down the cloth, squeezing out the excess water. Nice and warm.

“I don’t care about which one is  _ cooler. _ ” Langris spits the word out with so much disdain that Finral can’t help a small laugh escaping, leaning back so he can wash his brother’s small feet. The way he squirms reminds Finral just how ticklish he is… And how getting into tickle fights with him now exhausts all of his limited energy. “Yours is so useful. If I had it, I could come see you any time I wanted. And I wouldn’t miss you as much.”

Finral is quiet as he wipes the dirt from his brother’s soft skin, then rinses off the cloth and sets it down to dry. It never doesn’t hurt to hear such things. “I’m sorry I have to be gone so often. I know you miss me, and I wish I could spend more time with you.”

“Your captain better pick me when I become a Magic Knight.” Langris pouts at him, and Finral laughs and scoops him up off of the sink, holding him close to his chest again. “I’m serious! Then we can be a team together. You can make portals and I can—”

“You’re right, we’d be the best team. But why don’t you focus on getting better first, hmm?” Finral kisses his forehead, and the offended expression on Langris’s face softens into something warm and familiar. He and his brother do love each other, after all.

His bed is rumpled likely from leaping out of it so quickly to get to Finral, so Finral sets his little brother on his feet and smoothes out the sheet. He ensures the corners are tucked firmly around the mattress, then gives the comforter a light shake and straightens the pillows, then scoops Langris up and tosses him lightly on the mattress. It bounces a little under his weight and he giggles, the sound making Finral’s stomach flutter.

He tucks the comforter around his brother’s small lap, then sits next to him on the bed, leaning in to kiss him on the forehead. “Now, would you like to see the presents?”

“Yes, please.” Langris holds out his hands, expectant with an angelic smile on his lips.

Finral slips the bag of gifts into his lap, flipping it open, his fingers brushing the corked bottle Rill gave him. All right. This first, just to see. “Try this first, all right? It’s a drink, and I know I don’t  _ normally _ bring you those, but I think you’d really like it.”

“A drink?” Langris grabs for the bag and Finral leans away from him, laughing as he extracts the bottle and passes it to Langris. Watching his small fingers brush over the leaves tied to the neck, the ones Finral wasn’t able to figure out. “What is it?”

“Just try it, hmm? It’s really good.” And it probably is, because Finral doubts the fae make anything that would taste bad to a human tongue. Unless Rill has an unusually sweet palette, which could be true, but they do primarily eat fruits and berries.

Langris tugs the cork free with dexterous little fingers and sets it carefully on the table next to his bed, sniffing the top of the bottle with a doubtful expression. Then it shifts into something surprised— And he tips the bottle up to his small pink lips to drink.

“It is really good,” he says, tongue darting out to lick away a droplet of moisture; Finral vainly ignores the small flare of heat in his gut, just like he always does. “I like it.”

Good. Maybe if it helps, Finral can bring him more. He doubts Rill would say no if he propositioned him for more of whatever this is, especially if Rill just wants to help. Humans are idiots. The fae are strange, but good creatures, and childhood stories are stupid. “I’m glad. Now, I have some snacks for you just like you asked for. Wanna see?”

Their parents are busy this afternoon, Langris is in better health than usual, and Finral can dote on him and kiss him and hug him as much as he wants. This is a good day, if a rare day, and he drinks in the way Langris’s eyes sparkle with every present, every snack and little trinket that Finral picked up especially for him. He always tries to find something to bring back with him just for Langris, something that will make his entire face light up.

If this is all he can do to make the days stretched between their visits bearable, than he wants to do it properly. He wants to be the best big brother he can be, because he’s the only one Langris has, and Langris deserves the best of everything. And if at the end Langris spills into his lap to hug him so tight he loses his breath for a moment, Finral will sweep him right up against his chest and cling back just as tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my nanowrimo 2020 project, finally coming to fruition after months of planning and discussion and thought process. i am excited to share it with everyone. if you like it, feel free to leave a kudos, and no pressure to leave a comment, as comments will be turned off for the entirety of november so i can focus on the story.
> 
> do note: the rating is set to Explicit for future sexual content, so be aware that that is coming. the tags will be updated accordingly, so keep an eye on those, too.
> 
> big thank yous to [sexualnt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexualnt/pseuds/sexualnt), [sssunshinebreeze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sssunshinebreeze/pseuds/sssunshinebreeze), and [Beebo85](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beebo85/pseuds/Beebo85) for the support and discussion about this particular fic.
> 
> i hope everyone enjoys this absolute rollercoaster of a ride we are all going to go on together.


	2. Chapter 2

The brilliant blue of the afternoon sky fades into the murky darkness of dusk far too soon for Langris’s liking, his stomach already churning as he waits for his dinner to be delivered. He was so careful the last few days not to push himself too hard in training, refusing to exhaust his mana reserves despite his tutor’s insistence, and carefully picking just a few stray flowers from the garden that his mother would never notice missing.

He wants to be healthy when Finral comes to see him. He wants to spend time with him.

Mealtimes in the Vaude household have become more difficult the older he gets, but he does his best to do as he’s told. He really tries. No one has ever been able to explain why the taste and texture of meat upsets his stomach so badly, but he still tries to eat it.

How can he be blamed when his body rejects every type of it brought to him? Why is it his fault that something is wrong with him? He never asked to be born like this.

“Are you going to eat with your parents this evening, Finral-san?” The question comes from the servant who will bring Langris’s food in this evening and be forced to watch him to ensure he eats all of it. Or, more likely, report back that he threw it all up once again.

Finral shakes his head, and some of the light dims in his eyes despite his attempt to smile. “Not at all. I highly doubt either of them are fond of seeing me these days.”

“They’re wrong,” Langris mumbles, reaching out to take his brother’s hand tightly in both of his. And they are wrong. Finral is  _ good  _ in a way no other person just is, and Langris thinks his parents are too stupid to see how amazing of a person he is.

“Hush.” Finral squeezes his fingers gently, then turns his attention back to the servant. A new one, perhaps. Langris does not recognize this one. “I won’t be eating with my parents. If you don’t mind, simply bring my meal here to Langris’s room. I’m in no hurry to leave.”

“Are you sure?” The servant tips her head forward, and Langris bites back a snap to leave them alone. He just squeezes Finral’s hand as tight as he can.  _ Please don’t leave me. _

“I think I made myself perfectly clear when you asked the first time.” Finral’s smile sharpens slightly, an expression reserved only for people who are not Langris. Usually those who try to separate them, because their parents are not fond of their bond.

“Just making sure.” The servant bows her head and excuses herself from the room, and Finral sighs as soon as the door closes, violet eyes rolling and making Langris giggle.

“As if I stuttered the first time.” Finral turns to face him again, and Langris basks under his older brother’s attention, happy that Finral just lets Langris hold onto his hand, too. His time with Finral is so short that he soaks it all up. “They’re still trying to make you eat all that food you hate, aren’t they? Is that why she doesn’t want me to eat with you?”

Langris bites his lip. Conversations about their parents rarely end well or happily these days, and he hates wasting time talking about them. But not being honest with Finral always makes him feel bad. “Servants watch me eat when I’m in my room now.”

Finral squeezes his eyes shut, his chest heaving slightly as he inhales sharply through his teeth, and Langris’s stomach jumps. He moves without thinking about it, tired now that the excitement of the day has worn on him, but still able to climb into his brother’s lap. And he hugs him as tight as he can, willing him to calm down, not to be upset. Because if he fights with Mother and Father tonight, they might tell him to leave the house.

The last time they tried, Langris broke down sobbing and begged them not to make Finral leave, and it was the only way to stop them from forcing him out. Langris  _ needs _ Finral.

And neither of them seem to understand how much Finral tethers him now.

“Baby, no, it’s all right.” Finral softens into his embrace, his arms settling warm and familiar around Langris’s body, drawing him closer. Letting him settle properly across Finral’s thighs, letting him tuck his face against Finral’s neck. “I’m not going to get angry at them tonight, okay? I just… Hate that they keep doing this to you.”

“I know, but they’re only doing it because they care. I’m supposed to eat better because my body needs it.” Or something. Langris isn’t entirely sure this could be true. Food should probably not make his stomach cramp up so much he cries sometimes.

Finral pets a hand down his spine and Langris sighs as he leans into it, the warmth of Finral’s skin sinking through the fabric of his shirt. Soothing in a way nothing else is, the way his brother holds him and touches him. “They should let you eat what you want.”

“And what if I ate nothing but cakes and sweets? Then I wouldn’t be healthy at all.” Langris sticks his tongue out at his brother, grinning around it when Finral does it back. “I… I don’t like it, but it’s supposed to make me better, right? You eat meat all the time.”

“To be fair, I also don’t get sick when I eat it.” Finral taps him on the tongue and Langris pulls it back into his mouth immediately, ignoring the faint heat in his cheeks under the fever. At least Finral could never tell, not when Langris is sick like this.

Just a fever today, though. He had more energy than he’s used to today, so maybe all of his care and attention is working. If only his parents would just listen to him…

“If it was up to me, I’d fatten you up on so many sweet things, though.” Finral’s hand is gentle when it touches Langris’s face, sliding up into his hair to smooth it back off of his forehead before soft lips press a kiss to his hot skin. “Anything you wanted, as much as you wanted. I know you  _ need _ certain things in your diet, but that doesn’t make it any easier on me watching you get so sick over eating it. There has to be another way.”

Langris shivers under the tenderness of his brother’s words and cuddles closer to him, relieved when Finral pulls him in tight and close. He feels so safe in Finral’s arms, like his embrace could even keep the illness that has plagued Langris since he was a young child away if only for a brief moment. If only Finral could. Then Langris would have an excuse to be with him all the time, and their parents would never try to separate them.

Well, Mother still might. She seems so stubborn about Finral. It isn’t  _ fair. _

“There’s new medicine to try, and maybe it will help me keep food down. Don’t worry so much, I’m okay.” Langris leans up just enough to kiss him on the cheek, his stomach giving a little flutter at the contact, and he wonders what Finral would say if he knew.

Nothing good, Langris is sure of that. He doubts Finral would ever accept anything he feels as normal or good, and would certainly never return those feelings. Langris is sick in more ways than one. He just hopes Finral will never find out if he keeps it all close to his heart.

“Telling your big brother not to worry, hush. You know that never works on me.” Finral ruffles his hair and Langris smiles against his skin, reveling in the attention.

If he could have anything, it would just be this. These moments with Finral that feel like they could be endless, this warmth and tenderness that only his big brother ever seems to have for him. Mother and Father love him, and he knows this. Despite their disappointment in his condition, despite the occasional cruel words— They never mean those, he knows that. His parents  _ love _ him, because for what other reason would they exhaust so much effort into trying to keep him well? But Finral’s love for him feels  _ different. _

He never slips and says anything cruel, anything hurtful. Finral is nothing but gentle.

When he shifts in Finral’s lap, something on the sleeve of Finral’s shirt glitters, and he makes an intrigued noise as he leans closer. “What’s that on your shirt?”

“What’s what?” Finral glances down, then tilts his arm so that the strange particles glitter again. “Oh, that’s fae dust. I told you about Rill. I bumped into him on my way out.”

“I know you told me about him, but it still doesn’t seem real that you know a fae.” Langris tentatively touches his sleeve, noticing the slight pink hue to the shimmery specks.

Finral tilts his arm, giving it a shake so that fae dust spills down into Langris’s lap. It is much more vivid and noticeable against the cream color of his shirt. “If you get well enough to leave home, I can take you to meet him. Did you know he likes to paint?”

“You said that last time. What does he paint?” Langris drags his fingers through the dust, admiring the shine to it as he tilts his hand back and forth. It’s so pretty.

“Usually Charmy now that he’s in love with her, but sometimes he paints the rest of us when he wants new subject matter.” Finral’s hand strokes up and down his spine again, and Langris melts into it, unable to help himself. “Maybe I should take him a picture of you and have him paint your portrait. He’s quite good at art, you know. It’s his passion.”

Langris tilts his head, nuzzling into Finral’s shoulder as he considers the merit of a portrait for himself. “Why don’t you keep that? I want a picture of you. That way you’ll always be with me, even when you can’t be here.”

“Of course. Anything for you.” Finral squeezes him tight, and Langris hugs him in turn.

The sound of the door opening has Langris glancing up expecting to see the servant returning with his food, but his stomach quickly twists as he slides out of Finral’s lap. The servant has returned, but not alone and with Mother in tow, and the displeased twist of her lips is too familiar for comfort. It makes Langris want to chase Finral out of the room just so the two of them have no opportunity to argue with each other.

“Finral, how long have you been here without telling us you’d come home?” Her voice is sugary sweet and nothing like her, and Langris cringes at the sound of it.

To his credit, Finral’s face remains calm, unreadable as he turns to face Mother while Langris slips back under his bed covers as quickly as possible. At least every small, sweet snack Finral brought him has been carefully stored away out of her sight. “Since about this afternoon when I arrived home. I was told you were having guests over to the house.”

“Lord and Lady Vangeance, if you were curious.” Mother smiles thinly. Nobody asked. “Thank you for not causing a scene while they were here. You look… Well.”

“I am well. Everything is perfectly fine.” Finral stretches out a hand, brushing some of Langris’s hair back off of his forehead. It takes everything in Langris not to lean forward into that touch. Not with Mother watching. Not with people in the room.

Mother’s brow twitches. Langris has learned her expressions far too well in an effort to avoid getting into as much trouble as possible. She just gets so worried, of course she slides into anger sometimes. It’s natural. “Well, why don’t you come downstairs and eat dinner with us, and you can tell us about… The latest missions you’ve gone on?”

“Oh, we can talk about that any time.” Finral’s smile is empty. It never reaches his eyes when he talks to Mother, not anymore. “I want to stay with Langris right now, though, all right? Because I rarely get to see him as much as I want to. He’s my little brother.”

“He needs to eat his dinner properly. It’s important for his health.” Mother’s voice is strained just slightly. Maybe Finral can’t hear it, but Langris can.

Finral only continues to smile that strange, empty smile. “Right, of course I agree with you. But there’s no reason I can’t eat with him. I’m concerned about him, too, you know.”

“Of course you are.” Mother smiles, but Langris knows those words are false. He knows she never believes Finral when he says such things. “I hope you haven’t brought him anything that might spoil his appetite. It’s very important that he eats a full meal.”

“When have I ever brought him anything that wasn’t  _ healthy? _ ” Finral laughs; the sound is without humor. Langris knows his brother’s laughter better than he knows his own.

The stalemate makes Langris nervous. He  _ really _ doesn’t want the two of them to fight because it might mean not seeing Finral again for months. “It’s okay if he stays, isn’t it? He never bothers me and he just wants to make sure I get better, too.”

Mother’s face softens minutely, and she sighs, an exhalation that makes her shoulders rise and fall dramatically. “All right, Langris-chan, but you have to make sure you eat.”

“I will. All of it.” Even as his stomach roils unpleasantly at the thought, because he can  _ smell _ the meat, the bitter and sour scent. It makes his throat burn hot with bile.

“Even the beef.” Mother’s voice is harder now, leaving no room for argument, and Langris swallows back the bile as he nods quickly up at her. Of course the beef, a meat so heavy that it makes his stomach hurt even worse every time he consumes it.

Some are worse than others. The richer and heavier the meat, the more his body rejects it, and the sicker he grows for having tried to eat it. None of it ever really stays down, and something must be wrong with him. He needs the proteins, the vitamins, and he  _ knows _ this and still his body refuses to keep any of it down. Mother insists he needs it, that other children eat it, and he knows that, too. Rarely allowed to leave the house for his illness, but even Finral was able to eat it growing up without any issues or sickness.

Just another aspect of Langris that is… Abnormal.

“Here, let me.” Finral takes one of the plates from the newest servant girl and passes it to Langris carefully, ensuring that he has a firm grip on the fine china before letting go of it. “Thank you for bringing dinner to the room and checking on us both. We’re fine, I assure you. I was just about to tell Langris about the new training routine we’re trying.”

Something small and boring, something Mother might not want to listen in on. “I see. Well, when you’ve finished eating, Camille can just take your plates down to the kitchen—”

“I wouldn’t want to keep one of your servants standing around with nothing to do.” Finral’s cheer is bright but hollow, and Langris brushes a piece of broccoli on his plate. At least that will stay down, he knows that. “I can take them down myself. You know, my magic.”

Mother hesitates, then clears her throat. “There’s no need to stress yourself.”

“Not stress at all. I was doing it even before I had a grimoire, remember?” Finral spears a piece of beef with his work, tucking it into the corner of his mouth. He never drops his eyes from Mother’s. “Delicious, thank you for the dinner. Now, if you wanted to stay and leave Father to eat alone, that’s fine. You can sit down if you wish.”

Silence lingers in the air for far too long before Mother’s shoulders straighten, something sharp showing in her gaze. “Very well, boys. Eat  _ everything _ on your plate, Langris-chan. I trust you to make sure he does if you want him to get well soon, Finral.”

Finral nods once, again never dropping her gaze. “Of course. He’ll eat everything up.”

Mother turns stiffly and leaves the room, waving for the servant girl to follow after her. As soon as the door closes, Finral turns on the bed, his fork stabbing a piece of beef on Langris’s plate. He shuffles their food around with practiced ease, moving the meat to his own plate while nudging his vegetables onto Langris’s. The roiling in Langris’s gut stops slowly and he smiles gratefully up at his brother, ignoring the sting of tears in his eyes.

“Now, you can eat what’s on  _ your _ plate,” Finral says, shoving another piece of beef into his mouth, “and I’ll eat what’s on mine. Just as Mother asked. Are you fine with that?”

“I love you,” Langris says, eagerly spearing a piece of broccoli for himself.

He’s startled when Finral is suddenly in his personal space, then relaxes when Finral merely presses their foreheads together for a moment. “I love you, too. Now eat your dinner.”

They eat in relative silence before Finral stacks their empty plates on the table next to Langris’s bed, leaning closer and brushing his thumb against the corner of Langris’s mouth. It comes away with sticky sauce from their dinner on it, and Langris giggles a little, rubbing at his lips to ensure he isn’t more of a mess than that. Almost too distracted to notice the way Finral presses his thumb between his lips, absentmindedly licking the sauce away… And Langris feels that weird hot stab in his stomach that only happens when Finral is around. When Finral does something like that, something Langris doesn’t understand.

“There aren’t any new training routines, in case you were curious.” Finral kicks off his boots and leans back on the bed, folding his arms behind his head as he winks up at Langris. “Just in case you thought you’d get real Magic Knight secrets early.”

“I know that, nii-san.” Langris rolls his eyes and slips out from under the covers again so he can lay down next to his brother, settling into the arm that slips around his back to pull him closer. One of Finral’s big warm hands rests on his hip, anchoring him.

Finral tugs him closer until Langris is throwing an arm across his chest, nuzzling into his side. “Not much longer, you know. A couple of years and you can be a proper Magic Knight with me. And I’ll make sure that you’re well taken care of if you join my squad.”

“I want to, to be with you.” Langris curls his fingers in Finral’s cloak, the black fabric soft and well-worn beneath his fingers. It seems like so long ago that Finral left home.

“What if you got a better offer than the Black Bulls, hmm? What if you got, say, Silver Eagles? Fancy noble squad.” Finral traces his fingers along Langris’s hip, but Langris only shakes his head against his brother’s side. “No? What about Crimson Lions?”

Langris scowls up at him. “I said I want to be with  _ you. _ That’s all I care about.”

“Golden Dawn might want you with such strong offensive spatial magic. Are you going to turn down a spot in the most respected squad for us losers?” Finral wrinkles his nose at him and Langris giggles at him. “Mm, I guess you would, though. You said you would.”

“I will. I want to be with nii-san. I want to be a Magic Knight who fights beside you.” Nothing would be better than that, because Langris still remembers the keen ache in his ribs when Finral left home, a new squad cloak wrapped around his trembling shoulders.

He should have been happy. They should have all been happy for him, too.

“Maybe together we could give the squad a new reputation. Or at least a better one.” Finral rolls over onto his side now, slipping his other arm around Langris, around him and above him, surrounding him in familiar and comforting warmth. “No one would be able to lay a hand on you if my magic’s in play. I could keep you safe and give you new ways to attack.”

“I know you’d keep me safe. You already do.” Langris smiles up at him, and something in Finral’s eyes goes so soft that Langris’s stomach grows warm.

Long fingers card through his ruffle, bed-mussed hair, pushing it back out of his eyes before Finral kisses his forehead for what feels like the dozenth time today. “I’m glad that you trust me to do it and that you feel safe with me. That means a lot.”

“You kiss me a lot lately.” Langris doesn’t mean to say it out loud; it just comes out, and he feels Finral tense against him, body going stiff. “I don’t mind it, though. It’s nice.”

“If you want me to stop, I can. I just miss you a lot, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Finral whispers the words so close that Langris can feel the gentle brush of lips against his skin, his fingers tightening in Finral’s cloak in answer.

He shakes his head, pressing just a little closer so that Finral kisses his forehead again, if entirely by accident rather than design. “It’s okay. I like it. Nii-san is so nice all the time.”

“Well, you’re my precious little brother, so what else can I do but shower you with affection?” Finral’s fingers ghost down his side and Langris squirms, giggling as he shoves his face against Finral’s chest. Too ticklish, especially under his brother’s clever fingers.

Finral only does it for a moment before relenting, stroking his fingers over the places he’d bothered so that Langris goes soft under his hand. They used to get into tickle fights when Langris was younger, but so many of them ended in him coughing and choking as he struggled to catch his breath. Too frail. Even though he’d known it was dangerous, he still ran the moment he saw Finral appear in front of their house. Dependable as always.

His illness fluctuates. The seasons change. But Finral is the one thing Langris can be certain of, the one person who never changes, the one who is always there for him with the same warmth and tenderness, the same smile, the same kisses. It means so much to him.

If he can have only one constant in his life, he’s glad that it’s Finral.

“I want to take you away from here for a few days the next time I come.” Finral’s fingers are in his hair again, lazily petting through the strands while Langris sighs and settles in close to him. “I doubt Mother will let me, but I still want to. Just for a bit.”

“Would that be safe? Well… I suppose we can get home quickly.” Langris smiles, the expression hidden by Finral’s shirt, but his pride in his brother’s abilities swells at the thought of how  _ easily _ Finral could get him somewhere safe should his illness act up. Just like Finral saved him from falling outside with no more than a thought.

“My line of thinking exactly, and I doubt anything will happen.” Finral cups the back of his head, as if wanting to hold him close, and Langris smiles as he nuzzles into Finral’s chest. Warm and solid and familiar. “I don’t make you eat things that make you sick. You know, you always seem just a little bit better off when it’s just you and me alone together.”

“You’re good at taking care of me.” Langris lets go of Finral’s cloak so he can slip his arm around him, cuddling as close as he dares, inhaling the faint scent of laundry soap on the black fabric. Imagining himself in one like it one day in the near future.

Just a couple more years, and he can finally leave and be with Finral forever.

He feels the shimmer of spatial magic at his back and knows Finral is reaching for something, too comfortable to shift from his current position to see what it is. Only the oddly sweet scent that filters into the room makes him turn, curiosity winning out and his stomach faintly growling. He still wants a bit more, dinner not quite filling enough for him.

Considering he rarely gets food that he can properly  _ eat, _ of course he’s hungry.

“I know you asked me to stop bringing them in where Mother could see,” Finral says, and Langris twists around quickly because he  _ knows _ that sweet scent now, almost sugary to his nose. “But they’re in bloom right now, and I know how much you love them.”

The familiar little violet flowers have Langris reaching for their stems without hesitation, heart thrumming just a little faster at the sight of his favorite mountain flowers. The ones he quietly asked Finral to stop bringing to him months ago when Mother caught him picking the petals off, slipping them between his lips to quell the ache in his gut. When she ripped them out of his hands and brought him to tears, telling him to just be  _ normal. _

The sight makes his stomach twist uncomfortably, but he reaches for them just the same.

“There you go.” Finral wraps around him from behind his time, his hands coming to rest over Langris’s belly, fingers lacing there comfortably. “You can just have them for a bit while I’m here, and I can hide them away for you before I leave. Sound good, Langris?”

“Yes, nii-san.” And because he can feel Finral nuzzling into his hair, Langris dares to pluck a single blossom. It tastes floral and sweet on his tongue, lighting up his tastebuds instantly.

_ Delicious. _ A small pleased noise leaves his lips as he nuzzles the flowers, uncaring of the way the pollen tickles his nose as his brother kisses the back of his head. They’d napped in the garden as children, Langris sneaking little bits of petals before his parents knew he wanted to eat them and Finral dozing lightly in the sunlight. Langris still remembers the way the vibrant light brought out the rich golden hues in Finral’s hair, the way he’d shield his eyes, shadowed violet that always made Langris feel a bit funny.

“Why would the Vangeances be visiting?” Finral asks, and Langris makes a noise back at him, confused as to what he’s  _ really _ asking. “I don’t recall them being close with our parents, or for anyone for that matter. All I remember are whispers of a scandal.”

Langris wriggles onto his back, grumbling when his shirt rides up and twists in the process, though Finral only shifts to fix it for him. Tugging it down around his waist again, hand smoothing over his thigh before giving it a pat. And that makes Langris stop.

He has to try to find his voice again, blinking up at his brother. “It’s… Recent, because they have a daughter now. And she’s around my age, so…”

“Have you met her?” When Langris nods, Finral huffs and tugs him closer, petting down his side again. “Well, don’t let them pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do. Though you’d get to leave the house well before you’re Head of House and marrying age.”

“Nii-san sounds jealous,” Langris teases. Because he does, but why would he be?

Finral left home six years ago. Langris was seven, and he remembers the arguments between his older brother and their parents as he clung to a gift his brother brought him— a plush toy that he keeps hidden from their parents— and eavesdropped. The future Head of House Vade was meant to marry a woman from House Kira, but Finral’s failure to be anything  _ of note _ as far as their parents were concerned meant he would not be doing that. Maybe he wants to, still? Langris doesn’t know. He just doesn’t want to be forced into marrying someone, but Lady Finesse is too old for him. It would cause another scandal.

“What is there to be jealous about?” Finral pinches his leg and Langris smacks his hand with a glare, mollified only when Finral rubs the skin gently. “I just don’t want them to push you into doing things you aren’t ready for or don’t want. They do that.”

“I know. But they won’t. Like you said, I’ll get to leave first.” Langris bites his lip when Finral’s hand rests gently over his leg, palm warm against the skin left pink from his fingers. “I’m getting tired. I need to take a bath and go to bed soon.”

Finral nods, tucking his face back down into Langris’s hair, and Langris makes no move to get up. Not… Not quite yet. “Of course. It’s important for you to get as much sleep as possible. Do you want me to stay with you in your room or go back to mine?”

“Feel like I’m being a baby if I ask you to stay. I’m thirteen now. Nii-san shouldn’t still be sleeping in my room.” Langris frowns; he  _ likes _ when Finral stays with him. He’d rather have Finral there if he has a fit in the night than the servants rushing in, anyway.

He doesn’t mind being vulnerable or weak in front of Finral, because Finral takes care of him. Finral loves him. Everyone else doesn’t really compare, not even their parents.

Finral cups his cheek, and Langris leans into the touch unthinkingly. “Then I’ll stay of my own volition because I want to be close to my baby brother. Come on, go get in the bath.”

Langris smiles up at him and gets one last forehead kiss before he slips off to the bathroom to get cleaned up for bed. Finral really is the best part of their family.

And even if their parents never notice it, Langris always will. He’ll live just to remind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor bby langris


	3. Chapter 3

Finral waits until he hears the splashing of water in the bathroom before he scoops up their plates and carries them downstairs to the kitchen. Just because he said he could easily use his spatial magic to deliver them with no consequence does not mean he was intending to do it. Langris needs time to bathe, and Finral wants as much time as possible to think about the handful of unfortunate facts he learned this evening.

It hardly surprises him that servants are watching Langris eat now, ensuring he chokes down all the food that makes him ill, makes him weak. Their parents are fools.  _ Morons. _ His poor brother already suffers enough from his illness without them making it worse.

There are people in the Clover Kingdom who choose not to eat meat and are perfectly healthy. Maybe they just need to accept that Langris is one of those people and let him eat only what he can eat. Surely they can find a balance that will still let him recover.

The kitchen is quiet now. Finral leaves the plates in a sink with the cutlery stacked neatly on top, then slips back out into the hallway. It would be best for him to return to Langris’s room and wait, or change into something to sleep in first, but instead he picks his way around the long hallways, eyes carefully peeled for the servant girl his mother brought into Langris’s bedroom with her. The one who asked him to eat with his parents.

There are no flowers in the halls anymore, none poised on tables or stands. The lack of color and life is not made up for by the artistic pieces that have taken their places.

_ Damn them, _ Finral thinks, remembering Langris timidly asking him not to bring flowers by anymore and never really telling him why not to. Why take something so simple that he liked so much away from him? What was the point in doing such a thing?

The faint sound of footsteps has him stopping, peeking around the corner to see who might have made that noise. There are dozens of servants in House Vaude, but he either is lucky this evening or fate would simply have that he has found the servant girl, Camille, the one he did not immediately recognize. If his parents have hired another new servant, he can only assume one of the others must have gotten into trouble recently.

Finral scans the area, assures himself that they are alone, and slips into the hallway she is currently dusting and tidying. “Apologies for interrupting your work, but would you mind if I spoke to you for a moment? It’s about my little brother, Langris.”

Camille starts slightly, a hand fluttering up to press against her breast before she nods at him. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you approaching, Finral-san. How can I help you this evening?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep this conversation between the two fo us private.” Finral smiles slightly at her, watching her expression carefully, having well learned exactly which servants he can trust now, and which ones he cannot. “It’s been a while since I’ve been home, you know, because of my Magic Knight duties. And I see I need to catch up.”

The girl tilts her head, and her eyes dart toward the way he came. From upstairs. “Your parents told me the two of you were close, but I wasn’t expecting just how close.”

“Maybe that’s not typical of noble families, but I was eight years old when Langris was born. Hard not to bond with him.” Especially when Langris wasn’t yet ill, had been a sweet little angel of a baby just like any other, but he was  _ Finral’s _ little brother. He still remembers Father sitting him down in a chair for the first time and telling him to be careful before placing Langris in his arms, wrapped up snug and warm in a blanket.

And Finral still remembers the way those bright blue eyes looked up at him, as if  _ seeing _ him, as if  _ knowing _ him, and the way Langris wrapped a small, tiny hand around one of his fingers and clung to him. As if knowing that Finral would do anything to protect him.

Before everything had gone to hell. Back when Finral was certain his parents loved them both equally. Father stressed to him that because Langris was so much younger, it was important for Finral to look after him, and he wanted to do it. And sitting there, listening to Langris’s soft baby coos, feeling that warm weight in his arms, Finral swore he would.

He is only doing that now, so his parents being upset with him is extremely ironic.

Camille’s expression softens somewhat and she sighs, tucking the feather duster she was using into the belt of her apron. “That makes sense, I suppose. He was talking about you coming to see him soon, he seemed so excited about seeing you again.”

“We spent a lot of time together growing up. And I can’t really do that now.” Not when Langris needs him the most, just a reminder of how much has changed over the years.

Six years as a Magic Knight did not make it easier, either, like he thought it would.

“That must be difficult.” Camille glances around behind him again, as if she expects someone to be eavesdropping on their conversation. “If the information you ask for isn’t going to harm Langris-san by you knowing, then I’ll talk to you.”

“Of course not.” Relief sweeps slow and easy through his veins, but Finral reminds himself to stay on-guard just in case. He never truly knows when someone might be on his side here, or if they might just be collecting information to take back to his parents. Bad enough when he was younger, worse now with the fissure opened up between them.

Camille nods slowly, then leans her back up against the wall. Her eyes are serious, grey like storm clouds. “What is it you want to know about Langris-san, then?”

“When did our parents order servants to start watching him eat if he’s up in his room?” The question tastes like acid on his tongue; Finral never thought they would sink so low. “And why are there no flowers in the house any longer? Mother used to keep them everywhere because she liked them. And now I notice there aren’t any.”

“I haven’t been here very long, only a couple of months, but they were watching him before that.” Camille’s lips twist into a frown; Finral’s stomach aches.  _ Months. _ Months of having to choke down food that threatens to worsen his condition with no reprieve.

It makes him want to raid the kitchen for anything Langris can actually eat and keep it all stored in his room where their parents can never find it. Just so he can have something healing, something that will make him feel better, soothe his poor stomach.  _ Langris… _

“I don’t understand why they keep doing this to him,” he mutters, and Camille tilts her head at him, a curl of pale lavender hair slipping over her shoulder. “Sorry, sorry, I just… I know you haven’t been here long, and I know they have good intentions at heart, but certain foods make him sick to his stomach. And I wish they wouldn’t make him eat those.”

Quiet settles between them for a moment, during which Finral beats his anger back down into a light simmer. Camille clears her throat. “It’s not just meat, now. Eggs make him sick as well. Sometimes he would have a perfectly fine day if they didn’t make him eat breakfast, but… I haven’t been here long. But I don’t understand why they do it.”

“Do you know much about his illness in general? Has anyone told you how bad it’s been?” When the girl shakes her head, Finral drags a hand down his face, shoulder hitting the wall. Communication in this house is nonexistent. In that regard, nothing has changed.

“All I know is that he’s ill, and has been since he was young. But no one seems to know what started it, or how to stop it.” Camille offers him a slight smile, but it does nothing to alleviate the way Finral’s stomach churns just thinking about it. Just thinking about how much Langris has suffered over the years, and how much more their parents have caused.

He knows they care. He  _ knows _ they love Langris, because otherwise they would have given up on saving him years ago when his illness proved to be so stubborn, but…

Sometimes he struggles to believe that they love Langris the way parents  _ should, _ blinded by their own arrogance and assurance this is right. That there is no other way than pushing him and pushing him, and punishing him when they can push him no farther. Breaking him down in ways no parents ever should if only to try to reassure themselves they are right.

“He was about three or four when it started to present as an actual issue,” Finral says, and Camille’s eyes soften with concern. Three years old, so a  _ decade _ of this. Well more than half of his lifespan. “And it’s been like this ever since, though it was far worse when he was little. I think we had at least four scares about him dying before I left home.”

“That you were able to leave at all under those circumstances is impressive.” Camille’s voice holds no judgment, but Finral hates himself enough for leaving Langris that he needs none.

There is doing what he  _ has _ to do, and doing what he  _ wants _ to do. He took the Magic Knights exam, he was chosen, he had to leave home and pursue the dream he set for himself. But he wants Langris to come with him, to be with him, to watch over him so that he can grow and be happy and not have to live in such a dark, oppressive place.

“I did what I had to do.” The taste of bile on his tongue is strong. “The flowers. Why are there no flowers in the house? Mother used to have them clipped from the garden.”

Camille lowers her head, and Finral feels something prickle along the nape of his neck. Unease, dread? “Because Langris-san was eating them, according to Liliane-sama.”

_ Eating them? _ “My brother has never eaten flowers in his life. I used to bring them back for him when I came to visit him. Where would she have gotten such an idea from?”

“I couldn’t say. None of the other servants have ever mentioned anything about it to me beyond telling me to make sure he doesn’t enter the gardens unattended.” Camille fidgets with her apron for a moment and Finral waits for her, sensing there must be more she wants to say. Something she’s holding back, perhaps? “But I don’t understand what would be so harmful about it. Some flowers are edible, and some are even used in cooking. I would think the food he consumes that makes him ill is more dangerous than those.”

Finral rolls his teeth over his bottom lip, trying to think back to any strange behavior he might have noticed out of Langris over the years. Eating flowers? He remembers nothing of the sort, and they played in the gardens when Langris was smaller. Finral even remembers plucking small blossoms from their stems, tucking them into his wild hair. Bright blues that never quite matched his eyes but made them stand out more.

He looked so comfortable in the gardens, so at home. And they’ve taken that from him.

“Are my parents aware that some flowers are edible and safe to consume if cooked?” He feels like asking is a moot point. If they knew, they likely would have let Langris have  _ something _ that he so badly wanted. What if one of the plants was helping him?

Camille ducks her head, and Finral braces himself because he knows this is going to make him angrier. “I actually asked Ledior-sama if he was aware, but he stopped me and told me he wasn’t interested in such things. Langris-san needs to be like a  _ normal _ boy, he says.”

_ Normal. _ Finral squeezes his eyes shut. “Well, thank you for the information. It was what I needed. As I said, do try to keep this just between the two of us if you can.”

“Of course, Finral-san.” Camille bows her head, and Finral leaves her to her work.

His intention is to return to his own bedroom, dress for bed, and wait for Langris to finish his bath before tucking in for the night with him. Even if their parents say something about it, Finral wants to give him the reassurance he so often seems to be looking for every visit. The promise that Finral is always going to be here to keep him safe.

Even when he has to leave. Maybe he should slip through portals more often if just into Langris’s bedroom for a quick visit. If only he knew who was  _ in _ the room first—

Footsteps echoing in the quiet hall have him drifting away from his thoughts, his eyes drifting toward the other figure before he comes to an abrupt stop as he realizes his father is approaching him. Ledior Vaude was a different man when Finral was a child, though Liliane has remained much the same as his memories recall. His father was warm and gentle with him when he was younger, encouraging him. Praising him.

Not so much anymore. That ended even before Finral made a fool of himself in front of everyone who mattered at the exam. So be it. He found the squad he was meant to be in.

“Finral, there you are. Your mother said you were here, but I hadn’t seen you at all today.” Father smiles at him, but Finral is hesitant to return the expression. “How are you?”

“Fine. I was just dropping off our empty plates in the kitchen before bed. Langris is just taking a bath now.” The less he says, the better. Father never really  _ wants _ to know about him, because Finral wasn’t chosen by a squad that matters to his family.

They had higher hopes for him even as their belief in his magic quickly died out the moment Langris first manifested his own, and Finral never begrudges the talent and skill that comes so naturally to Langris. Others might have. Because of the pressure on noble families, Finral is aware that some siblings splintered the moment one of them proved they were more than, or less than, whatever their parents wanted.

In Finral’s case, it was less than. Spatial magic with no offensive quality was quickly frowned upon no matter what creative things he did with it— So why bother trying?

“I hope you haven’t been too rough with him. He’s been having a good few days, and I wouldn’t want him to slide back into being too sick to get out of bed.” Father’s voice is light, gentle, but Finral winces at the words just the same. As if he would ever.

“All we’ve done is talk and sit together. I wouldn’t want to make him worse.” Like when they were children, and the natural roughhousing would end with a visit from the healers.

Finral is careful now, because he has to be. Because Langris is just so weak…

Father nods, relief apparent in his eyes as he rubs over the patch of facial hair on his chin. “That’s good to hear. Has he been in good spirits, then? He enjoys visits from you.”

“Yes, as far as I can tell. He’s been perfectly happy all day.” Finral shifts his weight slightly, his hands twitching with the desire to grab something, play with something. Talking to his father makes him uncomfortable sometimes. “How have his lessons been?”

“He’s progressing at a faster rate than I would have expected even of someone who already proved they were a prodigy at a young age.” Father smiles, and the pride in his voice is obvious— And Finral smiles, too, because he’s glad for that. Glad that illness has not crippled Langris’s magical abilities, because he is  _ so _ talented even without a grimoire.

And the better he is, the sooner he can leave. “That’s excellent to hear. I remember how amazing he was just starting out. I’m glad he’s still progressing. He’ll make an amazing Magic Knight one day.” And serve as the pride of House Vaude, like Finral could never be.

“If Langris continues at this pace and recovers enough to take the exam, he’ll be growing into the position of Head of House. You understand that, right?” Father’s smile fades slightly, his eyes growing just hard enough for Finral’s own smile to fade.

“Of course, Father. I wouldn’t presume to still hold the position now. I don’t even use Vaude as my surname anymore.” It was a last, perhaps desperate bid of rebellion when he left to join the Black Bulls, the taking of his birth mother’s name in an effort to distance himself from this house. Not his brother, though. Never his brother. “Was that why the Vangeances were over to visit? Discussing a possible future suitor for him?”

Father nods, then half-turns and gestures for Finral to follow him. The study is on this floor as well, after all. “Come, let’s sit down and discuss that since you seem curious.”

He really isn’t, but Finral merely bows his head and trails after his father.

The study is just as grand as he remembers it being, but it has lost a lot of the charm it used to hold when he was a child coming to sneak in to bother Father for his attention. Maybe living with the Bulls has simply given him a new idea of what  _ home _ feels like, but the room is decidedly colder and less friendly than his childhood self recalls. Much of the house feels this way to him now, as if he has become simply another visitor. As if taking up Roulacase as his surname effectively did cut all ties with House Vaude after all.

Father gestures to one of the chairs poised in front of his large desk and Finral takes it, folding one leg over the other as Father gets situated. “So, am I correct in my assertion?”

“House Vangeance has had a particularly wide stroke of bad luck when it comes to their heirs,” Father says, and Finral raises an eyebrow at him. Not that he keeps up with most of the other noble families, but it still does surprise him. “Their first heir died, and their second son vanished from where he was staying. No one has seen him in eighteen years.”

“That… Doesn’t just happen, does it?” But even Finral knows such things  _ do _ happen and Father… Mentioned  _ where he was staying, _ so the boy was probably not even in the main house, where he would have been safest from abduction. But eighteen years?

Probably dead. Probably abducted and killed and buried somewhere far from here.

Father shrugs a shoulder, resting his arms on the desk in front of him. “I have no idea what happened to the boy, but it’s not happened to anyone that we know of. Their current living child is a girl who is in perfect health. An alliance with House Vangeance would be strong, so provided Langris gets better, he’ll be Head of House at the proper age.”

And married off to a stranger. Of course. “That sounds perfect for him.”

“On that note, though… Your marriage to Finesse is no longer one that I can approve of. Langris is too young, and you won’t be our next Head of House.” Father’s voice is stern, leaving no room for argument, but Finral is no longer interested in arguing with him.

He thought he wanted this, once. The respect of his parents, the position of Head of House, the marriage to Finesse— A truly lovely, beautiful, kind, and gentle-hearted woman, and that might have made him happy once. But Finral doesn’t think such a life suits him.

Rather, he  _ knows _ it doesn’t, and chasing after it will not make it more attractive to him.

“I’m fine with that,” he says, and Father leans back, surprised. “I’ve known it a while now.”

“You could still be much more than you are right now, if you put in the work and the effort. Maybe another squad will see their mistake in not taking you.” Father sighs, but Finral is unmoved by the words, because he has no desire to leave the Bulls. Not now. Not ever.

“Perhaps in the future.” He brushes the thought immediately away. All he cares about is improving for the sake of his squad and their battles together. No other reason could ever matter as much as assuring that all of them return safely after each mission.

A sigh pulls him from his thoughts, his memories of fights and battles and bloodshed for the sake of Clover Kingdom. “You could have been so much  _ more, _ Finral.”

“I am perfectly content with who I am right now. My captain values my abilities, and that’s important to me.” Even if Yami  _ mostly _ values them for how convenient they make his life, that’s still more than Finral’s parents being completely disinterested in him altogether, and he  _ does _ get to help the Bulls. “And I like my squad, you know. I know  _ you _ don’t, but it’s a good fit for me. And it doesn’t matter anyway, does it? You have Langris now.”

_ And you don’t need me anymore. _

“Your captain’s a peasant isn’t he? And a foreigner.” Father speaks almost around the words, like saying them at all is beneath him. As if any of that should even matter.

“Captain Yami is also one of the strongest captains, and he’s a better fit for me than the others would be.” And if he has to fight to keep the defensiveness out of his voice, then so be it, but Yami Sukehiro was the first person who saw… Anything in him. More than his own family. So why should Father say anything about him? “With all due respect, Father, the Black Bulls might not have been my first choice, but it would be now.”

The silence in the room is tense, but Finral bears it as best he can without any desire to go back on any of the words he dared to speak. Most of this would have earned him punishment as a child. He should be grateful for all his parents do for him, not contradicting them, not telling them how wrong they are about his life and what he needs. But he knows himself better than they know him, because they gave up on him.

Yami… Still has not given up on him. And that means something to Finral.

“Your brother already surpassed you in terms of magic despite being much younger. I guess he’ll surpass you as a Magic Knight, too.” Father sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if this is a disappointment to him. And to be fair, maybe it is.

“Langris will. I don’t even have to think about that to know it’s true, and I also don’t mind.” Finral sits up in his chair down, his spine a little straighter, because just the  _ tone _ of Father’s voice is grating to him. “Not every noble is destined for greatness.”

“Most of them don’t sink into obscurity in such a way, either, but fine. You’ve made your stance clear on your position in life.” Father waves the conversation away, as if it no longer appeals to him. Fine, then. If he wants to be such a sore loser, then let him.

The silence returns, but this time, Finral breaks it himself. “Do you think I could take Langris somewhere? Like camping. Just the two of us, no one else. It might be good for him to get some fresh air and to just… Be away from all the stress for a few days.”

“Where did this come from?” Father’s voice is a touch sharper than it was, but Finral was ready for that. He’d rather have this conversation just between the two of them, anyway.

“From me. I was thinking about it over the last few days.” Finral keeps his tone light, his voice careful, picking and choosing his words, because this is a hard sell even without going into any of the details. “He rarely gets to do anything because he’s ill, but he’ll be safe with me. If anything happens, I can bring him right back home in seconds.”

“You have no idea how traveling might exacerbate his illness. The boy already gets exhausted just training and spends days in bed after sometimes.” The disappointment is heavy in Father’s voice, aimed fully at Finral. As if chastising him for not understanding.

As if he was not the first one in the room so often when Langris was little, helping him get into a better position to breathe while yelling for the servants to get help. As if he never threaded his fingers through Langris’s hair to hold it back out of his tear-wet eyes so he could throw up in peace, rubbing his back with the other hand.

Father has a lot of nerve, Finral thinks. A lot of nerve to assume Finral does not and will never understand, when all he does is understand what Langris has gone through.

“We played outside in the garden as children all the time without his illness growing any worse. I think you should let me try this, just once.” Finral clears his throat when his Father tries to speak over him, not willing to be spoken over. “I just want him to have something positive from his childhood, you know? He gets so little for as hard as he works to get better, to grow stronger. Just a few days away from home, just me and him.”

When Father speaks, his voice is pitched lower than Finral has ever heard it before. “Finral, you’re my son. Despite the… Relationship between us now, you  _ are  _ my son.”

“I know that.” When did Finral ever imply he wasn’t? What is this? The name change?

“So you know I bring this up with as much compassion as I can, but your… Obsession with your brother has got to come to an end so both of you can have proper lives.” Father stands and strides across the room to look out the broad windows overlooking the garden, and something in Finral’s stomach drops hard and cold. “I know you’re worried about him, and I know that’s why you always make time to come see him. But it’s not healthy, either.”

“What obsession? He’s my brother, and he’s always sick. Of course I want to come see him.” Finral doesn’t need to add the ever-present fear that Langris will simply… Get worse. That the near-misses of his childhood will simply grow worse as he gets older.

That he might never get his grimoire if a particularly nasty few days ends in him dead.

“You know what I’m talking about, Finral. I know you love your brother. I was worried you’d be jealous at your age, that you wouldn’t want anything to do with him, and that it would cause issues in your childhood. But you were perfectly lovely.” Father sighs; his shoulders heave with the motion, and he sounds exhausted. Tired in a way Finral has never heard him before. “Anyone else would have been happy to have a son like you. But you  _ do _ realize just how… Strange this looks, doesn’t it? The way you always come to see him, talk about him.”

The question makes something prickle along Finral’s skin, and he slips a hand up his sleeve to rub at his forearm in an attempt to dispel it. “You don’t want to know about what I do in the Black Bulls, so why even bring that up when I’m home? I know you don’t care about it.”

And to be fair, he tried once. That’s how he  _ knows _ neither of them care about it.

“You ask the servants about him, because some of them have told me you do. You spend all day up in his room with him without so much as stepping out for a moment to yourself. It's… Noticeable, is all I mean.” Father still does not look back at him, and Finral wonders if he might have trouble schooling his expression. If that is why he remains turned away. “And now you want to take him away somewhere. Just the two of you. For how long?”

“A few days. Just so he can have some peace and quiet away from home. I was once raised to be the Vaude heir. I know how much pressure comes with that.” And how much more comes when one is  _ failing, _ because even if Langris is strong… There are other issues.

Issues like the way Mother spoke to him about eating his dinner. Issues like not allowing him into the garden without an escort, and Finral wants to ask about that. He does. He wants to know why his brother would think eating flowers is what he has to do because his parents keep forcing him to eat food that makes him sick to his stomach.

“A few days away from home, just the two of you, isolated from everyone else. Am I hearing that correctly?” Father glances back at him only briefly, too quick for Finral to really take stock of his face. “Anything could happen to him, Finral. I know you’re irresponsible, and brash at the worst of times, but you are asking too much.”

_ Irresponsible. Brash. _ Like parents who would train their sick child to the bone, leaving him laid up in bed for days. Who would seek a marriage proposal before he even makes it to adulthood. “I just want him to have good memories. Can you imagine how awful it would be to get better and to remember childhood as nothing but illness? As pain?”

“And you think you’re the only one capable of giving him those memories? Do you think so little of life here that you assume  _ all _ he’ll remember is pain?” Father’s voice is sharp. Biting, the words digging into Finral’s skin and not at all what he meant with his words.

And it might be true, just the same, and Father might  _ know _ how true it is, and he would still say such things because he thinks he has a right. Thinks anyone has a right to act as though Langris does not suffer in this house. That he does not suffer beyond his illness.

“I only know of life here from what I’ve experienced of it,” Finral says, his voice low, soft. “And that was rejection for not being what you wanted of me. Tell me what I remember.”

The words are crueler and sharper than he intends them to be, but it  _ hurts _ and Father deserves to know that the pain never really went away. Finral worked hard. He only gave up when his parents made it perfectly clear they gave up on him, first.

It was why he took his mother’s last name. It was why he left without looking back, except to come see Langris when he could, to remind him that  _ someone _ in this family loved him.

Father exhales. The sound is shaky. “I’ll talk to your mother about this, but I won’t promise you that she’ll agree to it. She’s even more concerned about his fragility than me. But I’ve kept you too long. Langris is probably wondering where you’ve gotten off to.”

“He asked me to stay the night in his room with him. Do you have an objection to that?” Because it seems like he does. It seems like he would say something about it.

When Father looks at him, his expression is… Light, but unreadable. Guarded. “No. If Langris wants to spend as much time with you as he can before you leave, that should be fine. Just let a servant know if anything happens while he’s asleep.”

“I will.” Finral stands and leaves the room, turning his back on his father.

And he wonders how many other people have noticed his  _ obsession _ with Langris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finral, people can See you


	4. Chapter 4

“Nacht is a bit scary sometimes, very severe,” Finral says, giving the fresh bed covers a shake to loosen the wrinkles in the fabric. “Much more so than Captain Yami, even though no one ever believes me when I say that. He has a passion for unnerving all of us.”

Langris has trouble picturing the man Finral is talking about. The captains of each squad make appearances all over the capital, and Langris has seen all of them. Even now, he can easily picture Finral’s captain. Yami Sukehiro is intimidating, a tall and burly man with a frame heavy with muscle and a sword notched at his belt that Finral insists is a  _ katana. _ Everything about him makes Langris want to stay as far away from him as possible.

Most of the vice captains, he can also picture in his mind. But the vice captain for the Black Bulls remains a mystery to him, even described down to the last detail by his brother. “Why does Nacht never come to the capital then? I’ve never seen him.”

“I don’t think he’s fond of most of the people in the kingdom.” Finral laughs this off, but Langris cocks his head and wonders at the meaning of that, and why he is allowed to be a vice captain for a Magic Knight squad if that is true. “He does excellent work, you know, I think we might crash and burn without him keeping Captain Yami on track sometimes.”

“Are the two of them partners? Do they fight together?” Not that Langris thinks a man like Yami would need assistance in a fight, but what would he truly know?

Finral snorts and shakes his head, and Langris giggles at the sound. “Partners, no. Fight together, yes. They happen to have a complementary enough style to suit one another, but I don’t think either of them is particularly fond of that. They don’t like each other.”

“I wonder why Nacht is your vice captain, then. Doesn’t the captain choose their vice captain?” Langris cocks his head, watching Finral fluff the pillows the two of them will be sharing tonight. From his perch on the chair by the window, he’s comfortable.

“Well, Captain Yami makes some choices that aren’t always easy for me to understand, but I’ve learned not to question them too much.” Finral pats the pillows into place and smiles at Langris over his shoulder. “There, I think we’re good for bed. You must be tired.”

Langris nods and slips off of the chair he’s been perched on, fingers digging into the plush toy he holds in his hands. “It was a good day. I always get tired no matter what happens.”

“I don’t mind, as long as you’re rested.” Finral sits on the edge of the bed and Langris crosses the room to stand in front of him, peering up into the violet of his eyes. Even when he was too young to put words to it, he was always struck by Finral’s eyes. “I didn’t realize you still had this thing. I should take it to Vanessa to let her tidy it up for you.”

The plush cat is old now, worn from years of Langris carrying it around everywhere with him, and he thinks it might only be in tact now because he took to hiding it. “Of course I still have it. I’ve kept every present nii-san gave me. I didn’t want to let any of them go.”

“You’re a sweet kid, you know that?” Finral stretches a hand out, fingers tracing one of the delicate pointy ears. “I’m glad you love it so much. I picked it out just for you.”

Most of the plush toys made for small children tend to have dark eyes because those are cheaper and easier to come by, but the cat’s eyes are blue. Not quite the same shade as Langris’s are, but closer than anything else would have been. He only vaguely remembers Finral giving it to him for a birthday when he was small, but most of his important childhood memories include the plush cat being nearby. He really did cling to it.

And he still does not, at thirteen, when he is far too old and mature to still have a toy to cling to like a baby. But he can never bring himself to quite let go of it.

“You told me I reminded you of a cat when I was little.” Langris watches Finral pet the animal with a tiny smile. “Because I was always climbing all over you. Like a needy cat.”

“Always wanting my attention no matter what I was doing. You just wanted me to hold you, even when you were a toddler.” Finral’s hand slips up, gentle as he cups Langris’s chin and tilts his head up so their eyes meet, and something about it makes Langris’s throat itch.

He rarely speaks to other children his age because he spends so much time inside, but he wonders if all of them are just a little dazzled by their older brothers like he is.

Finral’s smile is so warm and fond it makes him ache in a strange way. “I remember your first steps being to me. Mother was holding you, and Father was beckoning you near, but you never took your eyes off of me. Even then, you knew you wanted to be with me.”

“You were a good brother, letting me tail after you everywhere. Other brothers so much older probably would have been annoyed.” Not that he knows, but he feels like  _ he _ would not have been such a good person. Would have wanted space to move and a chance to roam.

“Well, I don’t know about that.” Finral leans forward, his arms sure as he scoops Langris up off of the floor and pulls him into his lap, where Langris can still comfortably fit. He lags behind his peers, shorter than most of them now. It must be because he’s sick so often. “Nozel Silva and Fuegoleon Vermillion keep their little brothers close, so I suppose I’m not  _ that _ special, but I did the best I could. Besides, I liked being with you.”

Langris sticks his tongue out at him, and Finral gasps at him, faux offended. “I bet you liked the hero worship of having your little brother clinging to you like that.”

“And you wouldn’t?” Finral’s fingers press into his ribs and Langris squeaks, wriggling free of his arms and crawling toward the pillows. “Little coward, always running away!”

He almost makes it to the pillows before a hand closes around his ankle, dragging him back down the mattress with his hand still outstretched for the headboard. Finral is bigger than him, and stronger, and Langris twists over onto his back just in time to have his brother physically pin him down. The warm weight of Finral on top of him is a familiar one, most of that weight displaced onto his hands and knees so Langris is never squished.

“Caught you.” Finral sticks his tongue at him and Langris huffs and shoves at his chest.

If he was stronger, maybe he would be strong enough to properly wrestle, to throw Finral off of him like he should be able to. But he would be lying if he said that being under him like this, warm and caged in, does not make some part of him feel safe. Feel protected.

“Silly boy doesn’t even know to run away when given the chance.” Finral swoops down and Langris feels his stomach pitch nervously, anticipating…  _ Something, _ but Finral just pecks him on the nose and laughs softly. “I’ll have to teach you the very basics, won’t I?”

Langris scowls at him. “I know how to run away. I just know I don’t have to run from you.”

“You’re right. You never have to run away from me. I’ll never give you a reason to do that.” Finral kisses him again, higher, lips pressed against his forehead. The kiss lingers there.

The warmth uncurling in Langris’s stomach is familiar to him, something that only happens around Finral, but it seems… Strange now, more intense than he is used to feeling it. Like it begs him to do something, but he just stays in place, hands clutching his toy tighter to his chest. Feeling like a little kid all over again, but not quite like that either.

He doesn’t know what he feels like, actually. His brother makes him experience strange things, and he knows he could ask Finral about them, but something holds him back.

Like maybe asking the question would be bad instead of just getting an answer.

“One day you’re going to be all well, and we’ll be able to play around like we used to. So don’t get too stuck-up and  _ adult _ before then so you remember how to have fun.” Finral rolls off of him, and Langris almost reaches for him. Langris almost pulls him back on top of him, but he stops himself at the last second. “We have fun in the Black Bulls too.”

Langris rolls over onto his side so he can keep his eyes on his brother, the way Finral flops back so carelessly on his bed. This is the only time that his brother ever truly looks happy to be home. “It sounds like you found a family of your own when you left home.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. It isn’t much of a family if you aren’t there. But it’s pretty good.” Finral’s hand is gentle as it sifts through Langris’s hair, tickling his scalp enough to make him squirm. “There will be room for you when you join us. I promise you that.”

“I believe you.” Langris’s heart picks up just a little. Like it always does when Finral talks like this, reminding him that there is a future for him if he can escape this place.

Finral cups the back of his head, and Langris presses into the touch on instinct. “Good, I’m glad. I don’t ever want to be someone that you think you can’t believe in.”

Slowly, Langris pulls himself up against Finral’s side, moving so he can rest his cheek on his brother’s chest. “I’ve never thought I couldn’t believe in you. I know I can.”

“If you ever have any doubts, I want you to bring them right to me so I can find a way to put them to rest. All right?” Finral glances down at him and Langris nods in agreement, nuzzling his face a little into his brother’s shirt. The pajama shirt is softer than his cape.

“Well, we should probably go to sleep, then. If I keep you up much later, you won’t get enough sleep for tomorrow.” Finral shakes him off and Langris bites back a petulant whine, watching as Finral reaches for the comforter and draws it up over them both. “Maybe I can steal you away to take you to visit. That surely wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“Mother might get angry at you for taking me somewhere with a bunch of strangers she doesn’t approve of,” Langris says without thinking, and Finral stops moving.

The tension in the room is only there for a moment, thick enough to choke and then gone as Finral laughs and shakes his head, twisting around to tuck the blanket around Langris securely. “Well, she’s wrong. They’re good people, and they’ll all love you.”

“You wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true.” Langris leans up to pop a kiss on Finral’s cheek, one to say goodnight, and that’s it. That’s  _ all  _ he means by it. “Goodnight, nii-san, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Langris.” Finral twists around, kisses him  _ back  _ on the cheek, and Langris feels his stomach grow hot and shuddery again. Maybe tonight will be a bad night.

The bedroom is quiet, the house itself settling in for the night though Langris doubts either of his parents are asleep this early. He should stay up later if he could, but today has been a long enough day that he feels the need to turn in early once again. It isn’t so bad when Finral is here with him, when Langris is not alone and waiting for his body to settle into a restful enough state to sleep. Even tired, sometimes he has trouble.

But Finral being near makes that easier on him, hand rubbing up and down his back slowly and soothingly. Langris reaches for the laces at the top of Finral’s shirt, playing with the sloppily-tied bow until his fingers are too clumsy to grasp it properly.

Sleep is a delicate thing for Langris. He feels like he only sleeps deeply after horrible days when his body is begging for some kind of rest and sleeps far less when he has good days. Tonight is no different. His sleep feels fleeting and light, shades of grey over his closed lids before he finds himself slowly blinking awake, staring around the darkened room.

It takes him half a second to notice. His chest is tight, his throat burning. Air. He needs air. He needs air, and his lungs seem resistant to expanding to draw it on.

Alarm flares harsh and bright through his mind as he shoves himself up. His chest seizes sharp and tight as he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His hands are shaking as he claws at his throat, trying to breathe. Air. He needs to breathe. He needs  _ air. _

“Langris?” Finral’s voice barely reaches him, soft and sleepy. “Langris, what— Langris!”

His eyes are wide. Terror claws at his gut. He can’t breathe. Nii-san, he can’t  _ breathe. _

A hand comes down hard on his back, jolting him forward. Pain blossoms hot on his skin and Langris chokes, a yelp caught in his throat. His throat feels full, like something is inside it. Caught inside it. Something solid? Something wet? His head swims. It hurts. It  _ burns. _

Finral grasps him from behind, arms squeezing him tight. Langris manages a tiny, breathy squeak at the pressure. Crushing his chest, his ribs, it  _ hurts. _ It aches, it hurts, Finral stop— Another compression, Langris claws at his arms. His throat, he can’t, he  _ can’t— _

A third compression. Langris’s throat opens up slowly, a bit, just a little. He gasps helplessly as Finral squeezes him again and again. A little at a time, oxygen trickles down his sore throat. His eyes swim with tears, the pain, the fear. Too much. Too much.

A last compression. His throat opens up fully and Langris gags, gulping in air, doubling over as he coughs and chokes. Something wet splatters the blanket under him. Spit? Langris coughs and coughs, and his throat feels inflamed. Rubbed raw, as if someone scraped the inside of it. He chokes and spits and coughs, inhaling as much air as he can.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The expletives have him twisting his head, eyes wide, because Finral never swears like that around him. His brother’s face is pale, ghostly white, his eyes standing out against the white. What is it? What’s wrong? Why is nii-san scared?

“Nii—” He chokes again, doubles over, heaving. His hands touch the blanket. Wet. Soaked.

Finral jumps out of bed, half-tripping over his own feet to get to the door. He throws it open, gripping the frame. His hands are shaking, like they can’t hold him up. “Help! Send for a healer right now! It’s an emergency!” Trembling all down his spine. Shaking. What is it?

Langris wipes his mouth with shivering fingers, looking down at them. Something dark smeared across his skin, black in the moonlight, something familiar. The brassy metallic scent makes his stomach roil and he pitches over again, choking and coughing. Blood.  _ Blood. _

“It’s all right, Langris, I’m here.” Finral’s hands are on his shoulders, holding him upright while Langris spits blood off of his tongue. Blood is bad. Blood means something is wrong.

Langris hacks up phlegm and blood, the thick texture making him gag as he tries to breathe. Something is wrong. He’s never coughed up blood like this before. And more. His head throbs. His face itches. Something is wrong. Why now? Today was a good day.

The pounding of footsteps on the floor makes him look up, confused, dazed. Mother and Father, a flurry of clothing, voices yelling as they run to him. Servants. Langris can hardly focus on them, too distracted by the itching, the ache between his eyes. His ears throb, like something is wrong with them. Something new? New symptoms? Please no.

Today was such a good day. Today was the best day he’s had in  _ months. _ Why now? Why?

_ Why _ swims through his mind as he drifts away from what is going on around him. Finral is yanked away from him and Langris reaches for him, only able to focus on him. On the ashen color of his face against his gemstone eyes. Of the guilt there, the anguish, the way his pale lips twist into a grimace. Langris reaches for him, because Finral is all he knows. Finral is everything he trusts. He reaches for him as servants chase him from the room.

_ Nii-san. Nii-san. _ Langris sobs after him, but no one listens to him. Why would they? They never have before. All they do is take and take. Take his brother away from him.

Mother’s voice is in his ear, telling him to breathe, to relax. Taking his grasping hands in her own, but she isn’t who Langris wants right now. He stares at the door instead, stares at it and wills his brother to come back through it. Wills Finral to return to him.

Why do they always take Finral away from him? Why do they always do this? He needs Finral. He needs Finral to be close always, to be with him. Why can he never stay?

“His face,” Mother whispers. So close that Langris slams his hands over his ringing ears, whining around the pain. Everything hurts. His entire head feels like it might burst.

His mouth tastes like blood and his head hurts, and they  _ took Finral away from him again. _

Wait. What about his face? What is she talking about? Is his face bleeding?

Father’s hands are gentle on his cheeks, lifting his head from where Langris is trying to curl up. Be small. Will this to end, because there is too much. This is too much. He can taste blood on his tongue and bile in his throat. Every time he so much as twitches, everything aches. How can it hurt this much? He was so careful today. He was so—

Was it because he ran to Finral? No. Impossible. A handful of steps would not set him back this far… But what if it did? Can he become a Magic Knight if his constitution is so delicate? Who would want him if running a dozen steps is enough to slow him down?

Tears blur Langris’s eyes, and he hiccups. His mouth tastes like vomit and blood and everything hurts. He wills his parents to understand what is wrong, but he fears they don’t care. When have they ever truly cared? They took Finral away from him again.

_ I want him back. I want him back right now. Give him to me. Stop taking him away! _

“What’s wrong?” His voice comes out in a wet croak, foreign to his own ears.

“You’re going to be just fine, Langris. I’ve sent for the best we have available.” Father wipes a few of the tears away but Langris can only sniffle up at him. “I know it hurts, baby. You must be in unimaginable pain right now. But just a few minutes, and it will be over.”

“Nii-san—” Langris breaks off coughing again, twisting away from Father’s touch.

Mother is there a moment later, rubbing his back as he clears his throat before she tucks her arms resolutely around him. Too tight, too close, her perfume makes his nose itch. “Your brother will just have to wait in the hall. It’s important to let the healers have as much room as possible to work. Even  _ he _ should be well aware of that.”

The tone of her voice makes Langris whimper. She sounds angry, but Finral did nothing wrong this time. All he did was call for help. Langris is lucky to have had him in the room, because he couldn’t breathe. What if he had died? Do his parents  _ want _ him to die?

_ Why do you have to be such a difficult child? Why can’t you just be normal? _

Langris tucks his head down to hide the way his eyes sting and burn. There are tears of pain there, tumbling down his cheeks, but more than that. Failure. Guilt. Why can’t he just be normal? Why does he have to be so sickly all the time? Why do they have to get out of bed in the middle of the night to come attend to him? Maybe his parents would love Finral like they should if Langris was well. Or maybe they would hate him even more.

“Nii-san,” he whimpers, but Mother only hushes him and rubs his back.

His face  _ itches. _ Langris whines and rubs it against his sleeve. His skin feels like it’s crawling, just under his eyes and all the way up his forehead. What’s  _ wrong _ with him?

He tries to scratch, but Mother catches his wrists and holds them tight. “Don’t, darling, I know you’re in pain. Just wait a little longer and you won’t be anymore, I promise.”

“But it hurts.” He feels like a baby, trying to pull his hands away from hers. It itches, it burns, everything hurts. All he wants to do is claw at his skin and make it all  _ stop. _

“It’s never been this bad before,” Father says, and Langris whines at him because he  _ knows _ that. He knows his illness. He lives it. Every day he suffers because of it, and he knows— “Do you think Finral did something to exacerbate it? We were so careful…”

Mother grips his wrists firmly enough that Langris cannot wrestle his hands away. Too weak, too pitiful, too tired. And she rocks him back and forth, like she’s trying to comfort him. It does nothing for the pain in his head, the ringing in his ears. “I don’t know. I couldn’t say. We can’t let them be alone together so often. It’s not good for our baby.”

_ Alone? _ Langris gnashes his teeth and shakes his head, but he can’t move much more beyond it. His body is too tired, too weak. Every bit of fight he wants to put up was taken out of him by getting sick, staining his sheets with blood and bile. But they cannot do this to him. They cannot take Finral away from him, keep them apart from each other. He needs his brother. He needs Finral to be there for him, to remind him it will get better.

Finral is the one who never gives up on him. Who encourages him. Who  _ loves _ him.

If they take Finral away from him, what will be left? What will he have to fight for? To look forward to? Every day will drag on, ceaseless pain and nothingness. Training until his bones ache, bedridden for days after, nights spent grasping at shadows. They have no idea how much he needs Finral, how much better Finral makes everything. How every visit restores his hope and makes him a little stronger for the months to come.

“That boy of yours has been nothing but bad news since Langris-chan was born,” Mother says, and Langris tries to shake his head. He does. But it feels so heavy on his shoulders.

He wants to tell her how wrong she is, but no words come to him. Nothing beyond a few helpless sounds, his body too exhausted to do much more than he can make it.

“I know.” Father heaves a sigh and Langris tilts his head back to look up at him, because how can he say that? How can either of them think Finral is bad? “He asked about taking Langris away with him for a few days. I should have known this would happen.”

“Take him away? A few  _ days? _ ” The venomous tone of Mother’s voice makes Langris shiver, but she only rubs his back to soothe him. “I think not. That’s all we need, is for something like this to happen, and then we can’t call anyone in time. And then… And then—”

“I  _ know, _ Liliane. I know as well as you do what will happen.” Father’s hand is gentle as it touches Langris’s face again, but it does nothing to soothe the angry itch that buzzes beneath his skin. All it does is make him whimper and want to twist away.

Footsteps in the hall again. Langris forces his body to move, wanting to clamp his hands over his ears again. Too much sound, too loud, but Mother refuses to let go of his wrists no matter how much he struggles. Faces he only recognizes from attacks like this enter the room, but Langris can only look at them. Can only wonder why it has to come to this.

His miserable body refuses to let go of its grasp on life, and he wonders if it would be better if he just died. If it would be better for Finral to be free and his parents to be rid of him. Maybe he can just lie still the next time something like this happens.

“It’s worse this time,” Mother says, and the raw anguish in her voice pierces him through with guilt. Langris closes his eyes, too tired to keep them open any longer.

“Do you know what caused it?” One of the healers asked, and after that, Langris loses track of the conversation entirely. It feels like his aching head is stuffed with cotton.

“Nii-san,” is the last thing he manages to choke out before everything goes hazy.

The sky is still dark when Langris regains any sense of the room around him, and despite his fatigue the pain has mostly stopped. He feels sore all through his body, his muscles trembling with the effort it takes for him to push himself into a sitting position. Darkness, the bedding changed beneath him, no sign of all the blood. No sign of his cat, either, and Langris wonders if his parents took it away. If he might never get it back.

Did he get blood on it? Probably. His mouth still tastes of copper, but only barely.

Finral is nowhere to be seen. Langris feels a familiar anxiety clawing at his gut as he swings shaky legs over the side of his bed, trying to be as stealthy quiet as possible as he slips to the door of his bedroom. It turns out to be futile. A servant is waiting just beyond that point, positioned like he might be here for the rest of the night. In case something happens. And he raises an eyebrow as soon as he sees Langris in the doorway.

“Can I get you something, young master?” he asks, deep voice clearly telling Langris he needs to get back into bed. That he never should have gotten up in the first place.

“I… A drink of water?” Langris shifts uneasily on his feet. The servants in the house have been told to keep an eye on him, and he knows this, but it still makes him feel uncomfortable when they look at him or speak to him like this. “My mouth is gross.”

The man’s face softens into a gentler expression and he nods, pushing himself up off of the wall. “Of course. Get back into bed and I’ll retrieve it for you. Is there anything else?”

“Is my brother all right? He was… In the room when it happened.” Langris knows he does not need to tell this servant what happened. When he has attacks, especially late at night, it wakes the entire house. His parents cause a ruckus. Healers have to be brought in.

That they have none living in the house yet is a testament to how stubborn his parents can be, he thinks. As if they truly believe he might never need to have one on-call.

“Finral-san was sent back to his Magic Knights squad considering the delicacy of your condition. As excited as you are to see him, your parents think it might have stressed you out far too much.” Now the man’s voice is softer, almost sad. “I’m sorry about that.”

They sent him away. They sent him back to the Black Bulls less than a day later.

Langris nods and closes the door softly before walking back to bed, ignoring the furious sting of tears in his eyes as he heaves himself up onto the mattress again. His room feels empty without Finral here with him, without his easy smile and the way his eyes glitter when he talks about something important to him. Without his warmth and embrace, the bed is cold and empty. Without him, Langris doesn’t really  _ want _ to get better.

“Nii-san.” He hiccups to the shadows of the room, burying his face in his hands. There is no stopping the flow of tears, the way his shoulders quiver and shake with each sob that wracks his frame. “Nii-san please… Please come back… I want you to come back…”

Two years. Two more  _ years _ before Langris will most likely receive his grimoire and be able to take the Magic Knights exam. Two years of this, of losing his brother so quickly, of mere precious hours between them before his parents send Finral away. They might not let him come back, because this attack was so bad. How can Langris get by without him?

He almost doesn’t want to. He almost doesn’t care enough to try that hard.

But Finral would  _ want _ him to and so he fists his hands in the comforter and makes himself stop crying, makes himself calm down. Finral wants him to get better, to come be with him, and so Langris has to even if it’s the last thing he does. He has to, because he wants to be with his brother again no matter what it takes for him to do that.

Two years is hardly that much when compared to thirteen, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor bby langris


	5. Chapter 5

“They made you leave?” The question is delivered gently in tandem with the hand rubbing soothing circles into his back, but Finral does not lift his head from where it rests in his hands. “I don’t… I don’t understand. What if something really bad happened to him?”

Finral shakes his head, barely resisting the urge to yank his hands through his hair one last time. The last time he did it, there were stray strands of brown and green tangled around his fingers, proof he was ripping it out of his scalp from stress. When Langris woke him up struggling to breathe, it was a normal enough occurrence that Finral knew how to help him. He remembers doing it when they were younger, when Langris choked on food, or sometimes just on spit. But he never saw him choke up mouthfuls of blood.

Can the human body even lose that much blood without dying? Is he even still alive?

“They think it’s my fault. They think me being there was what caused it.” His throat is tight, his eyes still wet despite all the tears he cried the moment he stepped into the main room of the Black Bulls headquarters. Numb from shock, needing to see his brother.

Vanessa’s hand continues to trace invisible patterns on his back while Finral struggles and fails to gain any control over himself, over his emotions. “How could it be your fault when the two of you were having such a nice day? I thought sudden attacks were just… Normal.”

“They are.” Finral shudders and swipes at his eyes.  _ Damn _ his weakness, why can’t he stop crying? Where is his self-control? What kind of brother is he if all he can do is sit here and cry while his brother is suffering? Bleeding… Shaking like that, poor Langris.

“Then why would they blame you for it?” Magna is on his other side, bookending him with Vanessa, so close their knees bump together every time Finral fails to hold back another sob. “I don’t get your parents, Finral. If your brother is just sick all the time, what fucking right do they have to blame you for him having a bad night? You do so much for him.”

Finral shakes his head. There are no words that come to him that could ever explain his relationship with his parents, none that his friends have not already heard before. Every time he comes home from another visit, they hear every complaint he has, every snide remark Mother made in his direction, every disappointed sigh from Father. What more can he say? And even all those details compounded together will never truly touch the depths of the dysfunction in their family, the way his parents treat him, the way they look at him.

“I don’t think there’s any clear answer to that question, Magna.” Vanessa takes the matter out of his hands, and for that Finral is thankful. He can’t summon the words right now.

Most of the team was asleep when he came home, and he feels bad for waking them up to make them deal with his family problems. Too much of his life has been surrounding those problems, the issues that he can never quite clear up no matter how hard he tries.

“Someone should take that child away from them.” Nacht sits on the other side of the room, perched on the arm of Yami’s hair next to the captain himself. “While I am well aware nobles can get away with far worse behavior, something should be done.”

“You got any ideas, princess?” Yami demands, voice rough from sleep and a little unkind.

Nacht sighs at him, a put-upon sound like the weight of the world itself rests on his shoulders when he is forced to speak to Yami. “Not off the top of my head and so suddenly, no, but there must be some angle we simply haven’t looked at yet. The boy clearly needs to be somewhere safer where he can be properly cared for.”

“You can always hide him in our forest if need be.” Because Rill is still here, too, though Finral does not recall him ever staying so late before. He usually heads back home when the sun begins to set. “No one can come in without permission. He would be safe there.”

“That’s tempting,” Yami mutters, but Finral shakes his head, mopping his face with his sleeve. It’s already damp from where he’s been crying into it. “Why not, Finral?”

It takes him a few shuddering deep breaths of air before he can speak, and his face is sore. His eyes are swollen and his face feels tender. “Because we’d get into so much trouble, and I don’t drag the rest of you into this. They’d know I took him immediately.”

“Well, if they can’t prove it, maybe it’s an option.” Yami takes a drag off of his cigarette, blue smoke wafting from his lips for a moment before he forcibly exhales.

Dark hair spills over Nacht’s shoulder as he tilts his head, and Finral realizes that in all the time he has known the man, he has never seen Nacht with his hair down. “I don’t dislike the idea of kidnapping a child and taking him to a fae forest in the dead of the night.”

“Uh.” Magna clears his throat. “Little… Intense, there, don’t you think, vice cap?”

“Not any more intense than torturing a child for seemingly no real purpose.” Nacht smiles, and something about the way his lips quirk paired with the cold, dead blue of his eyes makes a chill sweep down Finral’s spine. He’s less afraid of Yami glaring at him than this.

Rill cups his hands over his ears, cheerful smile in place as he kicks his heels against the cushion of the chair he’s perched on top of. Maybe sitting in it with his wings is uncomfortable, but Finral is too tired to ask. “I don’t hear any of this! All I know is that if a human boy gets brought to me for sanctuary, I’ll do that without thinking twice about it.”

“We aren’t kidnapping my brother no matter how attractive that might seem to the rest of you. It wouldn’t make  _ him _ happy to be taken away to the fae forest.” Or maybe it would, but Finral does not want to risk it. Because the humans who go there never come back as far as he knows, and what if they never let him see Langris again?

“Maybe you should ask him directly if he would rather do that,” Vanessa suggests, and Finral twists away from her in shock, bumping into Magna hard enough to make the younger man grab him. “Finral, stop and listen. Shouldn’t Langris be the one who chooses?”

He should be. He should be, and Finral knows it. “He’s thirteen years old, Vanessa. I can’t just kidnap him. My parents would  _ know.  _ Even without proof, they would know what we did.”

“And without any real proof to speak of, they would have a hard time making a case in court. You know that as well as I do.” Vanessa takes his hands in hers. His, trembling and damp in places with tears, a few stray spots of blood dried flaky against his pale skin.

“Making such charges against a Magic Knights squad would be difficult anyway, and they would need sufficient truth for it to go to trial.” Yami huffs another cloud of smoke into the air, finger tapping against the filter of his cigarette. “But Damnatio doesn’t fuck around, so we have to be real careful about taking the kid if we do it. You sure the fae won’t mind, Rill? I don’t exactly know how your people operate most of the time.”

What does he mean by most of the time? Does he know  _ any _ fae? Since when—

“Well, it’s not exactly uncommon for us to pick up injured children, is it?” Rill bounces one of his legs against the back of the chair, expression thoughtful. “So we can just—”

Finral pushes himself to his feet. It takes what little strength he has left, but it succeeds in silencing the room, in focusing their attention on him. “And what if taking him away means he gets worse? What if the healers attending him are keeping him alive?”

“Do you think they are?” Nacht asks. “Or do you think your parents are putting him in an early grave? I only ask because you seem so certain every time you talk about them.”

“I don’t know, okay?” Finral drops back down onto the couch, choking back another helpless sob, because what more can he possibly say that he already hasn’t said a hundred times?

His father’s words continue to haunt him. His  _ obsession _ with Langris. Is that what this is? Finral has known… Has been aware for a long time that his love for his brother is not as pure as it should be, that something is wrong with him. That he looks at Langris, and he wants things no brother should ask of a younger sibling. And he knows that Langris loves him and needs him so much, and would probably give Finral whatever he wanted if he only asked, if he only posed the question when it was just the two of them.

Finral wants to do right by his baby brother. But those words sting him, dig into his heart and latch onto him. What if he’s not doing this for Langris at all? What if this is just his own selfish desires making it hard for him to see what is best for Langris?

Vanessa slips her arm around his shoulders and he lets himself lean into her, rubbing at his sore eyes and wishing this night would come to an end. That it would just be a bad dream.

“Either your parents are monsters, or they aren’t. There is no debate to be had about this. Given their propensity for disinterest in your career as a Magic Knight, I’d wager a better guess on the former than the latter.” Nacht adjusts his position on the arm of the chair; Yami stretches a hand up, balancing it at the small of his back, as if ready to catch him.

Magna clears his throat. “Fin, you don’t  _ have _ to do anything at this very second, but… Maybe you need to think about it some. If we can get your brother away, that’s good.”

“And what if it isn’t? What if it gets worse?” What if he gets sicker? What if he—

A hand drops down on his shoulder so hard that Finral jumps, head jerking up to see someone who wasn’t in the room a few moments ago standing in front of him. Predictably, Gauche looks pissed. He was out on a mission when Finral left this morning, one that was scheduled perilously close to the day he typically goes to visit his little sister, Marie. Making it home on time and safely seems not to have eased his sour mood.

Not that Finral blames him. He would be upset to miss seeing Langris, too. He is now.

“Is your brother sick or not?” Gauche demands, his voice rough with sleep. “He is, isn’t he? That’s his blood on your hands. You talk about it all the time. So Langris is sick. Right?”

Most of the time, Finral gives Gauche space. He never thought of them being all that similar even though both of them have younger siblings they talk about… A lot. Definitely too much on Gauche’s part, and maybe too much on Finral’s, because he can barely remember a time when Gauche acknowledged someone who wasn’t Marie. Or something that had nothing to do with her.  _ Devotion _ would have been putting it lightly.

Finral tries to understand it. Losing her when he did and at such a young age was bound to push Gauche just a little closer to the edge, but Finral gets that. He tries to, at least.

What would he become if Langris was ripped from his hands for so long?

“He’s sick,” Finral agrees, and the hand on his shoulder squeezes tight enough to make him wince. But it steadies him, anchors him to hear someone talking to him so plainly.

Gauche nods. The one eye visible from under the fall of his hair is hard, gaze sharp enough to make Finral uncomfortable. “He’s sick. You said it yourself. Do you think your parents are making it worse, or do you legitimately believe that they are helping him heal?”

“I don’t know.” Finral presses his hands between his knees, feeling like a child being scolded once again. Like he was at home so often. “I can’t tell if I’m just being selfish wanting him to come be with me instead. Wanting to get him away from them. Just because they treated me like they did… That doesn’t mean they don’t love Langris.”

A huff. “I didn’t ask you if they loved him. I asked you if they’re making him worse.”

Finral winces. Ah, of course. “Since we were children, Langris hasn’t gotten any better than I can tell. I think it’s more on a plateau. But I’ve never seen him have an attack that bad.”

“So you can reasonably say that you believe they’re making him worse based on that. Correct?” Gauche squeezes his shoulder again, unrelenting, and Finral has never heard him talk about something that wasn’t Marie for this long. It’s out of the ordinary for him.

“Yes.” Finral feels so small, wanting to press back into the couch. Hide from this line of questioning even if it needs to happen, because it’s spelling the answers out for him.

Gauche sighs down at him, pats him on the shoulder. “You love your brother, don’t you? I know you must. You talk about him a lot, you go to see him a lot, you take him presents as often as you can. That’s your specific way of showing affection for him, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what else I can do for him. How many times can you say you love someone without wanting to find a more creative way to telegraph it?” He feels like such an idiot even saying this, because  _ who is he talking to? _ But Gauche seems unbothered.

“Then it’s easy. You love him. You want what’s best for him. You think your parents are making him worse.” Gauche lifts his hand, then smacks Finral on the side of the head so hard he yelps, hands flying up to rub the sore spot. “So stop being a dumbass about this and go get him. Take him somewhere safe so he can actually get better.”

“Stop making it sound so easy,” Finral mutters. But he knows it  _ is _ that easy, and… His feelings aside, Langris has been sick when he comes to visit. Langris has been bedridden for days by the time Finral can actually make time to come see him. It  _ isn’t _ him.

And the only other people who oversee his health at all are their parents.

Rill chirps up again, his wings giving a light flutter that sends a thin glitter of fae dust to the floor beneath him, gleaming softly in the light. “What kind of illness does he have, anyway? I’ve only heard you mention it from time to time. Does anyone know?"

“It’s not formally diagnosed, Rill,” Nacht says, sparing Finral the details of having to go through explaining it one more time. Not now. Not right now. “His parents have healers on standby who come in and check the boy over and heal what they can each time something happens, but there has never been any official name given to his illness. Just symptoms that they treat the best they seemingly think they can.”

“What kind of symptoms?” Rill turns his attention to Nacht, sliding down into the chair he’s been sitting in, wings flaring out wide to accommodate the position.

Nacht ticks them off on his fingers like Finral has regaled them with these stories enough for him to just have that knowledge instantly. “Muscle weakness, fever, fatigue, digestion issues, difficulty breathing. No treatments have ever done much to stop the illness.”

“Langris has tried… Different medicines, different treatments, whatever he was told to do, but nothing worked. So they just… Heal what they can when it gets bad.” Finral sniffles and gives himself a shake. No. He cannot afford to just keep falling to pieces like this.

He has to hold himself together. For Langris. To get him out of this disaster of a house.

“That seems out of the ordinary then, doesn’t it? Humans usually… Just  _ have _ something that can be pinpointed and fixed, right? Or maybe not fixed, but at least they know.” Rill taps a finger against his chin, but all Finral can do is shrug helplessly. He doesn’t know.

If he had any answers about any of this, then they would have a solution by now.

Yami finishes his cigarette, crushing the smoldering butt in the ashtray next to his chair, rubbing his hand up Nacht’s back for just a moment. Wait, since when— “You aren’t gonna be able to just waltz in and take the kid, Rill. His parents are nobles and they watch him at night, right, Finral? So they’re probably gonna know if someone sneaks into his room.”

“Finral has spatial magic,” Magna says, and Finral winces. Because yes… Yes he does, and some nights all he wanted to do was use it. Slip into his brother’s room like he did when they were children, tug him out of bed and take him away from there. “So just… You can both go through together, I guess. They’ll probably sense the mana, but…”

That was true. His parents would know his mana easily, and there would be no hiding it.

Rill tilts his head back, expression thoughtful. “Well, maybe there’s another way.”

“What other way would there be?” Finral tries to keep his voice as calm as possible, but he is beyond tired right now. The day was going so well… And then, and  _ now… _

“I don’t have spatial magic, and your mana is too recognizable, so the quickest getaway isn’t an option. However.” Rill holds up a finger, smiling broadly as he gives a confident nod. He must be sure his plan will work, then. “You don’t need to put me in his room. As long as I can sense his mana, I’ll be able to find him anywhere in the house. Just transport me to the property itself, and we can keep you out of any possible detection range.”

Nacht shifts position on the arm of the chair, turning to face Rill, and Yami’s hand moves with him, keeping him steady. So the two of them are— “You might even be able to cause a distraction with your particular magic. It wouldn’t be recognizable to anyone.”

“There’s enough I can do with it to make sure of that!” Rill glances over to Finral again, his fingers twitching in that way they do right before he vanishes to start painting. “I can distract them and bring your brother to you, and we can take him to the forest together. He’ll be safe there. And we have healers who might be able to do something for him.”

Finral sniffs and considers the option, but eventually has to dip his head in a small nod. “Let’s… Let’s give him a bit of time to recover first, all right? I’m sure tonight was harder on him than normal because of how awful it was. I don’t want to trigger a worse episode.”

“How much longer do you think he can believably wait before something like this happens again?” The question is from Vanessa, her hand still on his back, steady and present.

“No, no, I agree with him this time.” Gauche only has to give Magna a look before Magna mutters something under his breath but pushes himself up from the couch. When Gauche drops down on it, he does it so hard that Finral squeaks as he’s bounced on the cushion a tad. “If it was really bad, the kid’s going to need at least a day to recuperate from it. Worse comes to worst, all the excitement of leaving the house triggers another episode when you aren’t able to get a healer to come see him. What happens then?”

All that blood… “He might die, and I can’t risk that. Not if we’re trying to save him, because all that does is prove that I wasn’t thinking about him at all. Let him recover just a little and then we can try this. Are you sure the fae healers could help him?”

Rill hums, his wings giving a light flutter, showering the floor with dust once again. “I think so, yes. We have one incredibly talented healer among all the others who could pull someone back from the brink of death itself if need be, I think. All he would need is the motivation to try. I’m sure… You don’t want him to have that motivation this time, though.”

“No. I don’t.” Finral lets himself lean into Vanessa’s arms when she embraces him, the resolve slowly steeling in his chest. If he lets Langris stay home, and something happens when they have available options, it will have been Finral’s fault.

“So you have two options,” Gaucha says, and Finral nods without having to look at him. Because he knows he does. And now, he knows what they are. Just two. Just two, the easiest choice anyone could make. A coin flip decision. “You leave him home and let what happens, happen. Or we let Rill take him to the fae so they can heal him.”

Finral looks up at Rill again, watching the fae continue to fidget with his small hands, clearly hungering for a brush and some paint. “I don’t want to sound selfish when I ask this. I just want to prepare myself. Am I going to see him again if he goes with you?”

Because he knows what the stories have said. Childhood tales fraught with tension and fear, warnings whispered not to slip close to the fae forest. That fae will kidnap humans and they are never seen nor heard from again, and Finral doubts something so cruel could ever be true… But. But half a millennium ago, the Clover prince was supposedly taken into the forest, and no one ever saw him again. And he  _ did _ vanish from recorded history.

Fault him, perhaps, for being curious enough to check after meeting Rill for the first time. After wondering if Charmy would one day disappear into the trees with him.

“It would be up to my kind to make a final decision on that. I have to talk to them about all of this anyway, but… Our healer would want to help your brother, and we owe him enough.” Rill shrugs a shoulder, his expression going distant and thoughtful once again. “Sometimes they leave, you know, when someone brings a fae child back to the forest to trade.”

“Is that a common occurrence, bringing a child back to the forest?” Nacht asks, and Finral tucks his head against Vanessa’s shoulder. Exhausted. It’s been such a long night.

“It isn’t a common practice here, but it is in other kingdoms. More often than not, though, human parents just keep the fae child and raise them instead. Like Damnatio.” Rill pops up from his chair, dust swirling through the air in a bright glitter before settling down on the floor once again. They have to sweep that up eventually. “I should go back now, and I can talk to them about this. To our healer first, so he’ll already be on my side.”

“Fae are still that untrustworthy of humans, but you’d risk falling in love with one anyway,” Nacht teases, his sharp blue eyes glittering, something unfamiliar in his voice.

Finral never claimed to understand the man well, though. He doesn’t think anyone does.

Rill’s smile shifts slightly, fading away from his eyes before he laughs and throws his hands up into the air. “What can I say? You can never control who you fall in love with, can you? You can only control whether or not you do something about it, or you move on with life.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Nacht shifts on the arm of the chair; Yami’s hand remains on his back, keeping his balance. “Well, sorry to keep you so late, Rill. Thank you for your help.”

Now, Finral forces himself to his feet. Exhausted, still bloody from Langris, but he owes it to Rill to at least properly see him off. “Thank you for even offering to do this for me. And I’m sorry to have dragged you into the middle of this. It isn’t your responsibility.”

“No, but… You’re my friends.” Rill’s wings flutter and Finral tilts his head up to maintain eye contact as the fae’s feet leave the dust-sprinkled floor beneath them. “You’ve all been very kind to me ever since I first came here, and you love your brother so much.”

“Thank you.” Finral’s voice is rough, but he clears his throat. No more tears. Not now. He should almost be out of them anyway, his body too drained to make more.

Rill’s hands are warm, gentle as they touch his face. His sore cheeks, streaked from tears, puffy and swollen. “You don’t have to thank me, Finral. Every so often, there’s a human brought to our forest who isn’t brought solely because someone  _ wants _ them. Sometimes it’s to protect them, or to give them a home they never would have had otherwise.”

Finral smiles faintly at the idea. “And to think they told us as children that all the fae did was swipe children and kidnap princes. I can’t believe we were lied to so much.”

“I don’t let it bother me. Either humans will distrust us or they won’t. We pay it largely no mind now.” Rill’s lips are cool when they touch Finral’s forehead, and some of the tension melts from his muscles. “You should get some rest. I’ll be back soon to talk to you, and it will give your brother enough time to hopefully recover. Good night.”

He walks Rill to the entrance and watches him flutter off into the night, his wings nearly glowing underneath the spill of silver until the darkness swallows him up. Then Finral locks up for the night and is relieved to see most of his team have slipped off to bed once again. It does wonders on how self-conscious he feels for waking them up in the first place, stumbling through his portal, numb and then breaking into so many fragile pieces.

Not that the pieces have been glued back together. Barely pressed back together into a facsimile of what he might have been before Langris woke him up. But… Better, a bit.

Something feels better. Maybe just having a plan moving forward.

Vanessa is still waiting for him on the couch when he returns and she stands to hug him, and he leans into her familiar warmth. The Black Bulls are the only family Finral has, as far as he’s concerned. “I’m sorry it had to go this way, Fin. Your brother doesn’t deserve this.”

“I know. He never has. But… Maybe it’ll be okay now.” Finral pats her on the back, then steps out of her arms. He has to be stronger going forward. Strong for himself, strong for his team, strong for Langris, because uprooting him is going to be difficult.

“Just get some sleep tonight if you can. We’ll do whatever we can for him. You know that.” Vanessa smiles at him, and Finral knows. He knows better than most that the Bulls have his back through this, even if it means dragging all of them into potential trouble with him.

No matter who takes Langris away, Finral will be suspected. Because of course he will be.

“I’ll do my best. He needs that from me. And thank you for being here.” There is so much more he wants to say, but it’s late. Best reserved for when he can speak properly.

The walk to his bedroom feels unnecessarily long, perhaps the house shifting while he was away. Finral shrugs out of his blood-spotted pajamas and heads to the bathroom to wash the rusty streaks off of his skin, though all of it feels like a betrayal. As if he is somehow washing his hands of what happened tonight, of Langris. He would never do that.

But his parents sent him away, and fighting them might have made Langris worse.

Remembering it is horrifying. The wet choking sounds, the blood, the tears. The way Langris wanted him to stay, wanted him, and Finral was shunted aside and told to remain in the hall, then told to go home. As if Langris did not want him. Did not  _ need _ him.

Finral splashes cold water on his face, soothing the soreness on his cheeks, the gritty dryness of his eyes. All they can do now is wait and hope the fae respond in the way he needs them to. Neither Mother nor Father will be able to stand up to Rill’s magic, and Finral will spirit them away from the property before anyone can stop them. Langris will be saved, and maybe the fae can heal the illness deep within his blood.

Maybe… Maybe Finral will never see him again, but that comes  _ second _ to everything else. Second to saving him. Second to healing him. Second to Langris getting to be a child again, because so much of his life has devolved into such pointless suffering.

If he never sees Langris again but his brother gets to have a stable and healthy life, then that will have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't live in yaminacht hell then are you even really alive


	6. Chapter 6

“Try this, now.” Father gestures with one hand to the apple perched on the table in front of them, the skin bruised and mottled. Imperfect. Sick. Rotting. “Go on, Langris.”

Spatial magic comes easy to Langris. As easy as breathing. It takes him almost no effort to properly manipulate his mana to perform the technique he wants to. His spatial magic appears in the vague shape of an orb with unsteady images, shifting and restless. Swirling grey and violet, hovering in the air at his beck and call. Unsteady in shape only, not in strength or power. It takes him so little to manifest it like this.

Violet in color. Like Finral’s eyes. Like the little flowers that always taste the best.

Langris’s lips press into a thin line as he lets the spatial magic fly, and the apple vanishes into nothingness. The space it occupied only a moment ago is empty now, the only evidence of its existence a slight moisture on the glossy wood that quickly evaporates.

The magic sparks out of existence, and Father favors him with a smile. “Very good work.”

“I can do bigger,” Langris murmurs, not taking his eyes from the spot on the desk where the apple had been. There and gone now, and he has no idea where it went.

“Do you want to try bigger?” The pleasure in Father’s voice is clear, but Langris hardly pays him any mind as he nods. His mind is elsewhere. He wants to distract himself from where it has been going since his parents sent his brother away from the house.

His training is important. Instrumental to his escape from this house, and so he has to push himself to hone it. Harnessing its potential, learning its nature, understanding its true power. All of this is essential to becoming a Magic Knight to make Finral proud, and Langris will do everything in his power to do just that. To become someone strong and sure of himself, to become someone who is not a burden to his family.

To be so strong that no one can separate him from Finral again, too fearful of his power.

“Bigger,” Langris murmurs in assent, and Father goes to retrieve something. Bigger, stronger,  _ more. _ How old does he have to be to take House Vaude from Father’s care? How much does he have to prove himself? How much until all of this can finally end?

He swallows, his throat dry, and coughs a little to clear it. For the first few days after the last attack, his throat felt achy and dry all the time, and no amount of water seemed to take away the itch. Healing from how violently he heaved, he thinks bitterly.

The book Father brings back to the desk is larger than the apple, but Langris feels a spark of annoyance in his veins at the sight of it.  _ Not big enough. _ “Go ahead. Try this one next.”

“I can do more than that,” Langris protests, but he’s already summoning his spatial magic to his fingertips once again. More than this. He can push himself. “I want bigger than this.”

“Do this first, and we’ll find something else,” Father says, and Langris huffs at him.

Something about the last attack had… Momentarily, he is sure, softened his parents’ pressure on him to outperform and continue along his path as the genius of the family. Langris’s spatial magic has always been the strongest, better than Father’s, and they want him to train it further and further, hone it and strengthen it. So that his showing at the exam will be impressive and powerful and turn all attention on him.

Not that it matters. Langris will choose to be with Finral and leave this house behind.

The book is gone in seconds, the space behind empty once more. The top of the desk slightly scuffed, and Langris toys with the idea of sinking his magic deep. Seeing how far he can go before he reaches his limit and needs to stop and start again. A rhythm instead of an overbearing force. He needs to know how to use his gifts to their full potential.

_ If only I had nii-san’s spatial magic. _ All he longs to do is go to his brother, to check on him and assure himself that Finral is well after what happened. He still has his brother’s ashen, terrified expression in his mind and doubts his parents have done anything to assuage the fear Finral must have felt while Langris was sick. Does he know that Langris is fine? Does he know that he survived that attack and is waiting for him to come visit again?

Will he be allowed? Or do his parents believe all of this was Finral’s fault?

“Do you want to keep going, or do you need to take a break?” Father’s eyes shine with a gentle concern that Langris shrugs off, because only one member of his family has ever made him think he truly cares. “Well, let’s see about finding you something bigger.”

“Not something  _ small, _ ” he says, and Father chuckles but nods as he slips out of the room.

Frustration sizzles through Langris’s blood as he paces around the room, waiting for Father to return, ignoring the churning in his gut. His diet has been curiously free of the foods that often make him ill over the last few days, which makes him wonder exactly what about this attack made his parents act so differently. So strangely. Mother even returned the plush cat Finral had given him, saying she simply needed to have it washed.

Not that Langris believes any of this to be true. Something happened that night. Having lived with his parents his whole life, learning them so he would understand them, he knows something about this last attack was… Abnormal. It was  _ powerful, _ but…

But none of them have ever changed the way they would treat him, which makes him suspicious. Below that is the anger at taking Finral away from him yet again.

The sound of footsteps has Langris stopping his pacing, walking instead to the window to peer through the glass at the gardener currently shaping one of the trees on their property. Whether it be one of the servants or one of his parents, Langris cannot let anyone see his nervous pacing. Cannot let them suspect something more is going on.

His stomach roils, and he pets a hand over it gently. The anxiety eating him up has nothing to do with his illness for a change. In fact, the last few days have been… Good.

Strangely good, and he needs to know exactly what happened to him that night.

“How about this?” Father’s voice draws him away from the window and he turns to see him holding one of the old chairs from the study. His parents were talking about new furniture a few days ago, he knows. This could be an interesting expenditure of magic.

“Suitable.” Langris turns his back on the curtains, on the promise of the sunlight outside, the sweetness of the grass. Confined inside after that last attack. “Move away please.”

“Your abilities really have surpassed everything I could have imagined for you when you first manifested them,” Father says. Langris tunes most of what he says out, summoning enough spatial magic to do what he needs to do. “Lord Vangeance will be pleased.”

_ Lord Vangeance. _ Langris’s spatial magic fizzes out at the name, and he clears his throat as he meets Father’s gaze uncertainly. “You never told me about how that went.”

“Oh, right, everything… Happened so quickly that day, didn’t it?” Father sits down in the chair Langris was about to make disappear and he rolls his eyes, irritated at the interruption. “If it pleases you, Langris, they do have a daughter about your age.”

His parents were fishing for a marriage arrangement, then. “What about Lady Finesse?”

“Finesse Calmreich?” Father asks, frowning slightly when Langris nods, the memory of Finral’s almost-fiance a hazy memory in his mind. “Finral would have to prove himself to be a proper head of house before we would ever consider making that official.”

“What happens to her if nii-san can’t marry her?” Langris cocks his head. Ever since Finral left their home and changed his name, his parents rarely mentioned her.

“I suppose her family will find her another potential spouse among the nobles, though I believe Silva and Vermillion are spoken for… At any rate.” Father waves a hand, dismissing the conversation, and Langris bites his tongue. She seemed like a kind woman. He hopes she fares well in life. “The Vangeance girl is just a few months your junior.”

“Didn’t something happen to their family?” He remembers what Finral said, whispers of a scandal, but Langris himself keeps his nose out of other noble family’s business.

Not something he can accomplish as Head of House, when it will be important for him to know everything so that he can use others to his advantage. To build an alliance with more and more despicable people, because he knows how noble families can be.

Turning out children for not being good enough. Pushing those that are too hard.

“Were you told something about them?” Father asks, but Langris shakes his head, not willing to incriminate his brother in something else when he did nothing wrong by mentioning his name now. “You’re sure? Finral asked me the same question.”

_ Nii-san. _ Langris shakes his head innocently. “He never did. The servants do, though.”

Father sighs and shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his chin. “I’ll have to tell them to stop gossiping about such things. The Vangeance family has suffered some horrible luck in their lives, but their daughter is in perfect health and a very promising young mage.”

“What happened?” Langris presses, because she could be anyone, and it would hardly matter to him. Any noble. Any family. All of it is merely for show, and he knows this.

No one has ever caught his interest, even though he knows they should have by now if he would be interested in anyone. Girls his age are beginning to bloom into true beauty and Langris hardly pays attention to them when his parents dress him up and drag him to dinner parties and lunches in order to introduce him around.

Langris doesn’t know what love feels like, what a crush feels like.

Another sigh as Father stretches out a hand, gently brushing his hair back off of his forehead. “She had two brothers before she was born, but neither of them are currently with the family. Her eldest brother died quite a long time ago, before even Finral was born. I was still married to Finral’s mother then. We attended the funeral.”

_ Died? _ Langris swallows past the slight lump in his throat, ignoring the dry itchiness that makes him want to cough. It would worry Father, and it would distract him. “The other?”

“He went missing when he was a child. He didn’t live at the estate, but after his brother passed away, he was meant to come live there. But he was gone, and no one has seen him since that day.” Father shakes his head, and Langris shudders at the thought. Taken away, just like that? Swept away with no warning? How could such a thing happen?

“Was no one watching him?” Now he feels gossipy and nosy, but… If his parents want him to marry this girl, he might need to know all of this just to not say something tasteless to her. Knowing so that he might never make a verbal misstep and upset her.

“He had attendants watching him all the time, of course, he was never alone, but… One morning they went to rouse him for breakfast, and he simply was not there.” Father shakes his head, then leans forward, his expression solemn. “I promised your mother I wouldn’t bother you about… That night, because I’m sure you’re still recovering from it.”

Langris frowns up at him. “What about it?” What does that have to do with him?

“When we were changing your bedding to put you back to sleep, there was… Something pink and glittery on your bed. What was that?” Father’s voice is low, serious. A bit scary.

“Fae dust,” Langris answers promptly, uncertain of the way Father’s face seems to drain of color, the way his lips press together into a thin line. “Nii-san’s friend and squad mate has a fae who is in love with her, and he comes to visit often. He’s told me about him.”

“Your brother knows a fae.” Father blinks, his expression unreadable. Strange.

“The girl in his squad who is very small and has magic sheep, Charmy? I know he’s told you and Mother about her because he’s talked about all of them before.” Langris has never met Finral’s squad, but he thinks he could identify all of them in person if he had to. They sound like the family Finral can’t have here. “She met a fae, and he fell in love with her.”

Father leans back in his chair, his hands coming to rest on top of his knees. “What has Finral told you about this fae? Anything interesting, like his magic?”

“No. He’s not with their squad, he just comes to visit.” Langris has never personally met a fae before, and the only one he knows of is a member of House Kira. The king’s family. The tall and imposing man is one Langris remembers from just seeing him once, but he’d been so taken with his resplendent, royal blue wings as to not notice anything else.

“I see. Well.” Father sighs and tips his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. “Finral,  _ why _ do you insist on befriending every malevolent force that would come your way?”

“Malevolent?” Langris echoes, frowning. No, Rill has never sounded scary to him.

“You can never go around fae, Langris. They’re not trustworthy. They do… Horrible things, like steal children away.” Father leans forward, his hand heavy and warm as it rests on Langris’s shoulder. Large enough to cover so much of it. Langris is small for his age.

That sounds  _ ridiculous _ from a grown man. “But Lady Finesse has a fae in her family, doesn’t she? In Magic Parliament. I’ve only seen him once or twice from a distance, though.”

“Damnatio Kira sentenced his own father to death. His magic is useful. I doubt House Kira keeps him for any other reason.” Father shudders, but Langris barely blinks.

He wonders if Damnatio’s parents treated him poorly. If he was only following his duties. Surely he would have to sentence the guilty even if he was a human with such magic. But House Kira are royals, and Langris would at least be willing to believe they chose to keep Damnatio in their family only for the convenience their magic afforded him.

Just like his parents all but disowned Finral for how useless they deemed his powers.

The thought makes Langris’s stomach churn again, and he stomps a foot in agitation as he looks up at his father. “But why is it bad that he did that? If his father did something wrong, and he was guilty, then that was justice, wasn’t it? People who do bad are punished.”

“I know you want to believe they aren’t frightening, especially if your brother has filled your head with lies about their kind, but… Fae are dangerous.” Father squeezes his shoulder, but Langris shoves his arm away. No. These are lies, and he knows it, because Finral would never lie to him about such things. “The reason a man like Damnatio is allowed to remain in the Capital at all is because he has a much stronger family to watch him.”

“That’s not true. That wouldn’t be true. They wouldn’t keep him as a baby if he was going to grow up to be dangerous. No one would do that if they hated the fae.” Langris’s hands curl into fists, strong in this conviction, angrier still that— That House Kira would keep someone others deem  _ dangerous _ and his parents would push Finral away.

Father shakes his head, his expression grave. “You don’t understand what might… Might motivate some people, but you’re young. I don’t expect you to understand it.”

“Then tell me why you think the fae are dangerous,” Langris demands. “Not just because they’re strong. Anyone can be strong. All the nobles and royals are strong.”

“What I tell you stays between the two of us, then. Do you understand?” Father reaches for his shoulder again, but Langris smacks his hand away before he can touch him.

“I understand. Now tell me.” Because Father is not allowed to just act this way.

Finral would never lie to him about anything, much less something or someone that might put him in danger or harm’s way. He would never tell Langris about a fae, would never make friends with one, if they were inherently dangerous beings. Frightening creatures. That isn’t who his brother is at heart and Langris knows that, because he knows him better than anyone ever could. Far better than their parents, who have never properly loved him.

If Rill was naturally an enemy, Finral would never befriend him. He would be wary, he would not let him so close as to dust his sleeves in such a way. Langris is sure of it.

“It’s gossip,” Father says, “but I confirmed it at the source. The youngest Vangeance boy was taken by the fae, out of his bedroom. They found fae dust on his bedsheets.”

Langris narrows his eyes up at him, not sure if he can believe that. Not sure if he can believe anything that his father tells him when it comes to contrasting what his brother says. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? I don’t have any reason to believe that.”

“I’m only telling you what his parents told me when I asked them if they knew anything about what happened to their son.” Father touches his shoulder again, and this time Langris doesn’t push him away. Not yet. “They cared about him, you know. They were bringing him home to be Head of House when he vanished. He was their son.”

“Then why was he not living at home when he was taken? Did they send him away?” When Father refuses to answer, Langris bristles. Just like they sent  _ Finral _ away.

Father squeezes his shoulder again, just a bare press of his fingers into Langris’s skin, like he’s willing him to listen, to understand. But he does. He  _ does, _ and it makes him so incredibly furious to hear it. “The boy was… You just don’t understand some things, Langris. The boy was a bastard. He wasn’t meant to live in the main house anyway.”

“So his father didn’t love him? Is that why he had to leave? And then he was stolen away in the night. Why do they care what happened to him then, if they never had before?” Langris’s face is hot, his hands trembling. How can anyone be so careless with a child?

He doubts the validity of any of it. The truth of it. Anyone could have taken the child without his parents knowing, and that was probably what happened. Just blame the fae, who are unable to come and defend themselves, because they live so far away, at the very edge of the kingdom where they are difficult to find. Their lush forest spills over into Spade Kingdom, beautiful and green despite the harshness. They’d never know the tales.

Blame them, but if the boy had been home it was likely no one would have taken him.

Father slaps him. The sting of it knocks the thoughts from his head for a moment, startling him, because neither of his parents have ever struck him before.

“You have no right to say such things,” Father says, but Langris only blinks at the wall, his head snapped to the side from the blow. Father  _ hit _ him. “You need to learn respect, Langris. You spend too much time with that damned brother of yours for your own good.”

Langris’s hand trembles. His mana shudders in response. “Don’t say that about him.”

Father stands, a sudden and jerky motion, and the tension in his body is visible, his eyes harder and sharper than Langris has ever seen them. “I’ll say what I please, Langris. Don’t talk back to me, I’m your father, and you live in my house. Under my roof. My rules.”

_ I don’t want to, _ Langris thinks. What he wants is to leave this place behind, to run to the Black Bulls headquarters where he knows Finral will be waiting with open arms. To bury himself in the safety of Finral’s embrace, and Langris… Langris, with his magic, can protect him. Because Mother and Father could never stand against his abilities.

“Fae aren’t evil,” Langris says, hand rising to touch the throbbing, hot skin of his cheek. Father left a mark on him? Over such a thing? “Nii-san would never lie to me about anything. If he’s friends with one, then the fae are not all evil like you say they are.”

“What do you think they’d do with an innocent human child like that boy?” Father asks.

Langris clamps his jaw shut, tells himself not to talk back. Not to smart off. Because if Father leaves another mark on him— What if someone sees? What if Finral sees? The shame would be too much, knowing that Langris could never control himself to stop it.

He wets his lips, though, and meets Father’s eyes directly. “At least they didn’t send him away and only care to retrieve him when it was a convenience to them.”

His mana flares bright and hot and tangible, and Father’s eyes widen in shock just as Langris’s spatial magic rips through the air around him and makes the chair he was just sitting in vanish. Nothing is left behind, not even a wooden splinter, not even a tuft of stuffing from one of the cushions. Langris is strong despite his illness.

Strong and  _ angry, _ because Father refuses to see that he treats Finral just the same.

“You sent Finral away,” Langris says, and Father stiffens. “Does he know I’m all right now? Did anyone go to tell him that I survived and am doing well? Or is he still worrying?”

“Finral isn’t worried about you, Langris. Why would he be? He has his own problems to worry about as a Magic Knight.” Father sighs at him, as if disappointed. As if asking about his brother pains Father, when he should have told him right away. Never sent him off.

Langris knows this to be a lie, because he knows Finral. “I saw his face when he saw me bleeding. I know better. If he wasn’t worried, he wouldn’t have called for help.”

“I know you love your brother. For the love of everything holy, I understand how you feel. But you need to let him  _ go, _ he’s a grown man now with a responsibility first and foremost to the Clover Kingdom.” Father’s hand is gentle this time when he touches Langris’s face. “And I shouldn’t have struck you like that. I apologize, Langris.”

Instead of answering, Langris shrugs him off. “But nii-san cares about me. He would want to know if I’m all right or not. Why wouldn’t you want to tell him that?”

What would be the point in making him suffer so unnecessarily? Their parents should at least do him the service of ensuring that he knows Langris is alive and well now.

“We don’t often talk to him until he comes home. If he worries himself enough, I’m sure he’ll come to check for himself, and we can tell him then.” Father’s hand covers his cheek, as if he is trying to fit his fingers into the shape of the mark he left behind.

Gently, Langris pushes his hand away. “Why can’t we just go tell him? I don’t have anything to  _ do, _ we can just go visit him at his base. He says his captain is very nice—”

“Yami Sukehiro is not exactly a person most would classify as  _ nice, _ Langris.” Father’s expression hardens again; Langris scowls at him. “And if they have a fae fluttering around their house, I have no desire to go anywhere near  _ it _ or them. It wouldn’t be safe.”

“Don’t call Rill an  _ it _ .” Langris has to hold back the urge to snap, to snarl, to get angry on behalf of the friend nii-san loves so much. How can they  _ say _ such things?

“Besides, you have plenty to do at the house,” Father continues as if Langris has said nothing, as if none of this is even reaching him. Maybe it isn’t. Most likely it isn’t, and Langris is only wasting his time. “You have to train because you’ll get your grimoire before long, and you need to recover. Being around people like the Black Bulls would be bad for your health if half of the rumors I’ve heard about them are true.”

_ Rumors, _ Langris wants to say,  _ not facts. _ But he bites his tongue about it. “Then let’s send nii-san a letter just so he knows everything is fine. So he won’t worry anymore.”

“Let it go. Finral will be fine. As I said, he’ll come to us if he worries enough. You two… I understand you love him. I do. He’s your brother. But… You have to  _ stop _ this, you know.” Father looks at him, gaze piercing as if seeing straight through him, and Langris’s stomach aches again. Maybe he should stop training and eat something. “Why don’t you occupy yourself for a bit before dinner? You’ve done excellent at training today.”

Langris could remind him that they’ve barely done anything but then Father is turning to leave the room, leaving him behind with nothing but what he’s told him.

Stop  _ what? _ What does he mean? Langris shakes his head in disgust and storms out of the room, stopping halfway down the hall when the dryness in his throat has him leaning against the wall to cough. Every motion shakes his body but he chokes and hacks until the irritation is gone, until he feels somewhat better. Maybe the bleeding and vomit caused some damage to his throat that the healers would not have known to check.

Langris rubs the front of his neck instead and starts down the hall once more.

He has no purpose in mind with his walking but passes Father’s study and finds himself stopping when he hears the din of voices through the door. Pressing his ear against it, Langris holds his breath and listens closely. Wishing for Finral’s portal magic once more, because it would be so much easier to hear, though he might be noticed that way. Hard to tell when their parents seemed to stop noticing Finral altogether.

“I don’t think it’s good for him,” Mother says, and Langris listens closely to the sound of her voice. “He gets so upset when it comes to that… That  _ boy _ of yours, you know.”

A sigh. “I know, Liliane. But keeping them apart is all but impossible, because you know how much worse it gets the longer Finral stays away. Langris misses him too fiercely. Sometimes I wonder if that alone is enough to make him worse.”

_ Worse? _ Langris wrinkles his nose. His illness is out of his control, and they know that. How on earth would he ever try to make it worse? Finral wouldn’t come just because of that.

Finral rarely knows about his state before he shows up at the house, anyway.

“Cavorting with such wretched creatures,” Mother says, and Langris presses harder to the door and listens more intently. He missed something, wrapped up in his own thoughts. “We can’t let him come around so freely. What if that— That  _ thing _ comes along with him?”

“I doubt there would be any reason for that. It’s involved with someone in his team, and he’s never brought any of them home.” Father makes another long-suffering noise, but Langris barely hears it, tensing in silent rage against the study door.

_ It. Rill. _ He seethes, because they have no right to talk about Finral’s friend like that!

People tell stories all the time, Langris knows them well. The Clover prince taken away by the evil fae king when he was dying, never to be seen again. Whispers of kidnapped children, of men and women spirited away, but Langris doubts any of it is true. People will lie instead of tell the truth. Maybe the Vangeance boy ran away because he knew his parents only wanted him because his brother was dead. Maybe he knew they didn’t love him, because no parent would ever send their child away out of love without a good reason.

Being a bastard is not a good reason. Only if he would have perhaps died otherwise.

Mother makes a choking sound, as if on the verge of tears, and Langris’s stomach aches again. “What if that horrible thing takes our baby away? What will we do?”

“I won’t let it happen.” Father’s voice is firm. “If that fae comes anywhere near Langris, it will be dealt with. You have my word on that. And Finral would never risk it.”

“You don’t  _ know  _ what that wretched boy will do! The way he comes and goes as he pleases, so disrespectful, so crude.” Mother sobs and Langris squeezes his eyes shut, torn, because the sound of her crying hurts him deeply, but saying such things— “If they take Langris-chan away, I won’t be able to survive it. And you know those monsters would!”

Monsters. No. Mother is wrong. She just doesn’t understand.

“If only he would just be  _ normal, _ ” Father says, and Langris pushes himself away from the door, from the sting of the words, from the way the pain lurches in his chest.

Normal. A normal little boy, the one thing Langris can never be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor baby langris


	7. Chapter 7

In no less than seven days, the Black Bulls are given three different missions one right after the other. The rhythm of splitting up into efficient teams to comb through dungeons is familiar enough to settle some of the mounting anxiety in Finral’s gut, settle the static concern sparking beneath his skin every time he comes home to remember his state in life.

It has been well over one week since Langris’s last attack. His parents have said nothing.

“They normally this cold?” The question comes from his dresser, where one of his squad mates has taken up a perch and is currently going through the box he keeps there. The box of gifts that Langris secrets away to give him when he visits. “Not even telling you if he’s alive or not seems kind of rough even for the standard of parents like them.”

“Do you have to go through my things?” Finral shoots the question over his shoulder as he busies himself with folding laundry, some menial task to distract himself from his mind.

Rill has still not come back from the fae forest, and Finral itches more every day.

Sharp laughter behind him makes him jump only a moment before he hears the sound of the box being set back down. “Well, you left it out and I got a little curious.”

“Is there a reason you came to talk to me?” The question is far more curt than Finral means it to be, and he winces at himself. Drops the shirt he was midway through folding and scrubs his hands over his face as he groans. “I’m sorry, Zora, that was—”

Another laugh. “Don’t worry about it, far worse has been said to me over the years.”

That sounds true enough that Finral does not bother to question it or ask what those things might have been. At first, Zora Ideale kept his secrets and his past close to his heart where none of them were allowed to see, none of them allowed to learn anything about him. It was the way of the Black Bulls, so many of them carrying burdens quietly so as not to further disturb the fragile peace of their strange, ragtag group.

Even now, Finral only knows a small amount of things about Zora. He imagines it might be as much as their resident trickster is willing to give them. “That doesn’t make it all right.”

“I don’t care,” Zora assures him. “If you’d really pissed me off, I would tell you that.”

He might, or he might not. Hard to say with him. In a softer tone of voice with more carefully chosen words, Finral tries again. “I just don’t want to waste your time. We’ve been so busy lately that no one’s had any personal time to do anything.”

“Can’t help that, can we? But you aren’t wasting my time. I was just coming to check on you anyway.” The thud of boots on the ground, Zora most likely sliding off the dresser perch.

“Check on me? Did Captain Yami tell you to?” Finral is a social person by nature, but even he started to second guess all the visits to his bedroom in-between missions. The way all of his squad kept stopping in to talk for a few minutes, like they wanted something.

That explains it, anyway. The captain must be worried about his state of mind.

“Vice Captain Nacht, actually.” Zora appears in his peripheral vision half a second before throwing himself across the top half of Finral’s bed not occupied by laundry. The piles of clothing tremble at the force. “Said to come see how you were since you’ve been dragged out on every single mission that’s come in. Not good for you, you know that?”

“You went out on two of those missions.” And Finral would know, since he did in fact go to all three himself to make his squad’s life a little easier on them.

There were no Diamond mages to worry about, no competition from other squads, and it made him wonder why the Black Bulls had been specifically chosen. At any rate, the missions were successful, and they were slowly but surely digging themselves out of the hole that years of casual carelessness landed them in as far as stars were concerned. It was something Nacht was very firm about ever since he’d spontaneously rejoined their group, something Finral remembers well but feels like might have been a dream.

In his defense, Yami never said anything about having a vice captain. It made sense that the one motley crew of mages would simply not have one. And then Nacht appeared on their doorstep, silver tongue at the ready, disgusted with Yami’s leadership.

“Only two compared to your three.” Zora rolls over onto his stomach, arching his back as he stretches, the long lean line of it flexing with the movement since he refuses to wear any kind of real shirt. “How have you been doing? I know it’s been a long wait.”

“I’m surviving. It’s fine.” Finral hasn’t slept properly in days and his dreams are full of nightmares of pleading blue eyes and the coppery scent of blood, but he’s coping with it as best he can. What more can they ask of him, when he does this much already?

Zora peers up at him from beneath black lashes so thick and long that they remind Finral of spider’s legs. “It’s fine, huh? Because I don’t think it’s really fine to you.”

“Well… Of course it’s not. But what more can I do?” Finral finishes folding his shirt and adds it to the pile to be put away when he’s all finished. “If I storm in there demanding to know if he’s all right or not, they can throw me out. If I sneak in, they’ll definitely notice my mana. I’m sure they’re just waiting for me to come back at this point.”

“How did you ever manage to sneak onto the property in the first place if they were so sensitive to it?” Zora cocks his head, eyes flashing with intrigue and challenge.

Damn him, if he does  _ anything _ that Finral has to clean up after… “I was lucky, then. They were too busy meeting with the Vangeances to care to notice me. I doubt they’ll be as careless now considering they blame me for what happened to him.”

“He gets sick in the middle of the night and it’s somehow your fault. What a stretch.” Zora laughs, but the sound is bitter, sick. There is no humor in it, and it makes Finral shudder.

Finral shrugs helplessly. “I know how ridiculous it sounds. We all do. But there’s nothing I can do about it except wait to be told I can come back— Or I just take him away.”

“To the fae.” Zora folds his arms, resting his chin neatly on the crook of his elbow.

“To the fae,” Finral agrees, though saying it out loud makes the concept no more real to him, no more solid. It feels like a far-off fantasy, not something that could ever actually happen. “I don’t know what else to do, Zora. I’ve told him for so long that once he got his grimoire and became a Magic Knight, he wouldn’t have to suffer like this anymore.”

Zora hums up at him. “I know. I’ve heard you talking to Yami about that.”

“But now… I don’t know if he can survive another two years,” Finral admits softly.

“That’s a valid concern. I can’t imagine those shitty parents of yours would care all that much about making sure he lives that long.” Zora closes his eyes, and Finral wonders if he plans on catching a nap here, or if he’s just comfortable. “Sure the Bulls would be a good fit for him, though? Seems like the house getting blown apart every few days might stress him out more. But I guess it’ll all work out if he goes to the fae instead.”

Finral sets the shirt down on the pile and picks up another one, ignoring the slight tremor in his hands. “I know it isn’t ideal, but I don’t know where else he could go.”

“Probably better off where you can watch him anyway,” Zora admits, yawning. Oh, so he is going to take a nap here. Well… Finral sighs to himself. That’s fine, he supposes.

“At least we’d be together, and I know he wants that. We were born so far apart that we hardly get to see each other.” And Finral wants to spend time with his brother, too, playing with him and holding him and reassuring him that he is loved, treasured, wanted for more than just a position of power. He never has to go back to House Vaude this way.

Maybe he could take up Finral’s last name, if he decides he never wants to go back. He never has to. Once he’s free from that house, he’s free forever.

One vibrant blue eye cracks open slowly, regarding him silently from where Zora rests. “I’m an only child, so I can’t imagine the struggles of having a younger sibling.”

“Most days it’s hardly a struggle. I love Langris so much. I still remember the day he was born.” And Finral does, the way he sat so carefully while Father laid the small, wriggling pink bundle in his arms for the first time. The way the baby’s eyes peered up at him, the soft protests and squirming stopping as Langris smiled down at him. “I just wish I could have been with him longer. He was just starting to get badly sick when I left home.”

There were… Issues before that, of course. Nights where Langris woke abruptly choking and crying, scared of the way his illness flared up even when he tried to rest. Nights of small footsteps pattering down the hallway before a warm, trembling body wiggled its way into Finral’s waiting arms. Their parents could always find Langris there in the morning, curled tight against Finral’s chest, wrapped in the protective safety of his arms.

And if Finral heard soft sobs even all the way down the hall in his own bedroom, he would vault to Langris’s side in a heartbeat to comfort him. Coaxing his little brother into his embrace, wiping his tears away, kissing his forehead and reassuring him that as long as Finral was here, he was safe, and no one was ever going to hurt him.

Sometimes, Finral wonders if he ever has nightmares about their parents.

“You must love him a lot to wander off on me thinking about him.” The sharp snap of fingers in his face makes Finral flinch back. Zora is much closer than he was a moment ago, and a flush of embarrassment burns down Finral’s neck. “Can’t blame you for that, though, hard not to love family. You grow up with them with it practically ingrained in your bones.”

Finral opens his mouth to reply. Closes it. Cocks his head as the almost wistful tone of Zora’s voice finally reaches the conscious part of his brain. “Is anything wrong?”

“Not at all. Trying to deflect from you just ignoring me?” Zora flops back against his pillows, legs canted to the side so as not to disturb Finral’s laundry.

“Of course not! I’m sorry, I just…”  _ I thought I heard something in your voice just then. _ But Finral knows almost nothing about Zora. He keeps most of his secrets to himself, very rarely offering up anything new about himself. “Sorry, it isn’t any of my business.”

When Zora smiles, Finral can see the flash of his blade-sharp teeth. “That’s right, it’s not. We were talking about you and your little brother. You think an awful lot of him, too.”

Finral ignores the burn of embarrassment in his cheeks and reminds himself not to presume next time no matter what Zora says or sounds like. “Hard not to, his spatial magic is amazing. It manifested a little earlier than mine did, and he was just so good so quickly.”

“Sounds like a real prodigy.” Zora stretches his arms over his head, fingers curling loosely around the top of Finral’s headboard. “Why are your parents so hard on him, then?”

“I wish I knew. If I knew, maybe I could talk some sense into them about the way they’ve been treating him all these years. Even when he was barely able to get out of bed, they wanted to make sure he was training.” As if they thought those skills would atrophy over time instead of giving Langris the rest and relaxation he needed to perform properly.

Part of the reason Finral wants him to come  _ here _ is that he can run interference and make sure that Langris is never pushed too hard. Even Yami with his typical motto  _ surpass your limits _ would back off of a sick child, and Finral is sure of that. It would be somewhere safe for Langris to recover where no one would really be looking to him to see what he would accomplish as a Magic Knight. And when he is ready, he can outperform everyone.

He just wants Langris to be safe. And most of the other Magic Knight squads that would likely be glad to have him would put far more pressure on him before he could recover.

Zora tilts his head to the side, expression sharp but thoughtful, like a predator spotting a prey off in the distance. Wondering if it might be worth chasing. “Are all nobles like this?”

“Pardon?” Finral presses, not sure what he means by  _ like this. _

“Far be it from me to judge,” Zora mutters, and Finral bites back a snort as he switches to folding his pants. Yes,  _ okay, _ far be it from  _ Zora Ideale _ to judge anyone. “Where I grew up, people typically loved their kids. If your parents could treat your brother like shit and throw you out at the same time, it sure seems like they don’t care about you.”

“You’ve met Noelle. I think you’ve seen ample evidence of what happens if a child doesn’t perform according to their parents’ expectations.” Not that Finral was surprised to learn the Silva family was just as ruthless as his own when it came to their own children.

Everything he’d heard about Acier Silva implied things would not be this way if she was still alive, but Finral has no way of knowing if that is true or not.

Zora clicks his tongue, the sound echoing in the quiet of the bedroom. “Yeah, I’ve met the princess, I know how it is. I just can’t believe it’s like that with all of you. Who the fuck even  _ has _ kids if they can’t be bothered to take care of them properly?”

“I can’t speak for other families, but our servants did a lot of work in terms of raising us because our parents were always busy. Well, me, anyway.” And Finral picked up the slack where Langris was concerned, wanting to be with his baby brother as much as possible.

He was old enough to be excited about being a big brother for the first time, okay?

The disgusted noise Zora makes draws a bitter smile to Finral’s lips. It was how they were raised, and to him it seemed normal at the time. “My father raised me  _ alone _ and your two parents can’t be bother to raise even one child without help. Bullshit.”

“Alone? Your mother passed away when you were young?” Finral keeps his tone light, casual, and tries not to be too curious, to probe too much lest Zora leave the room.

The stillness in the room tells him that Zora did not meant o say so much, but Finral only bites his lip and patiently waits as he folds another pair of pants. “Yes. As far as I know, she died when I was born. I don’t have memories of anyone but Dad.”

“You never asked about her? Weren’t curious?” Finral sets the folded pants aside and picks up another pair, almost done with his laundry. Maybe he should take a nap after.

It might help him catch up on the hours of sleep he’s been missing lately.

“I wondered but never asked. I wasn’t a very talkative kid.” Zora smiles wryly while Finral snorts, unable to imagine anything like that. “What? I barely talked. Dad used to try to get me to talk all the time. I guess I never had anything to say then.”

“So are you talking so much now to make up for that?” Finral teases, yelping when Zora aims a kick at his shirts, hands scrambling to keep them all from tumbling over.

“What can I say? Sometimes everyone needs to hear just how stupid they are to realize how many mistakes they made.” Zora grins at him, the metal of his piercings catchig the sunlight spilling in through Finral’s window. He must have just wiped them down for them to gleam that way. “Like you. I know you wanted to trust in your parents, but you let this go on for far too long, Finral. You should have taken the kid as soon as you left home.”

It stings to hear someone state it so bluntly, but Finral only nods in agreement as he fixes his shirts and picks up the last pair of pants that needs folding. “I agree with you, actually. I should have done something sooner. That night shouldn’t even have happened.”

“That’s what makes you one of the only nobles I like. You actually get that.” Zora arches his back, stretching, and then pushes himself up into a proper sitting position.

Coming from someone like Zora, that is decidedly high praise. “I don’t think of myself as much of a noble these days, and I don’t think anyone else does, either. Try to see me as just your squad mate from now on instead of someone from a higher class.”

“Normally I’d tell you it’s not so easy to erase that part of yourself, but I think you’re a special case with the way people treat you.” Zora grins at him again, an easy flash of sharp teeth, and Finral just nods in agreement. Most of the time, Finral Roulacase is seen as member of the Black Bulls, a failure of a Magic Knight squad, before anything else.

It makes his best efforts to ignore the pain in his gut by chasing skirts all the more difficult because no one has ever really wanted anything to do with him.

Another sharp kick to his pile of shirts has him swearing as he catches them to fix them again, fixing Zora with a scowl. “Oi! If you want my attention, just say something.”

“I  _ did, _ idiot. You keep wandering off mid-conversation.” Zora rolls his eyes so hard it must hurt, but Finral ignores him as he fixes his shirts once again. “I was asking if you’re going to be fine with not seeing him again. The fae can be pretty possessive of humans.”

So Finral has heard, though he has no idea how much of that is simply stories and how much of it comes down to personal differences between fae. “They don’t seem so bad.”

“And probably aren’t for the most part, but you’re bringing them a cute, sick little boy. I wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted to keep him.” Zora raises a ginger brow at him, and Finral nods slowly, forced to agree. Not surprised if the fae  _ do _ want to keep Langris once they see how strong he is. “Are you really going to be okay with that, Roulacase?”

Finral finishes with the last pair of pants, scooping the pile up and taking it over to his dresser so he can put everything away. “Honestly? I’m not. I’d do it if it meant he could be alive and happy and healthy, but I’d also hate myself for the rest of my life for not being able to help him and keep him in my life. Because I know he  _ wants _ to be with me.”

Langris does, too. No one  _ aspires _ to join the Black Bulls, the squad of losers, the most looked down upon squad of Magic Knights. No one except for one small, sick boy who just wants to be with the brother who took care of him, who looked after him.

Quickly, Finral dashes the bitter sting of tears from his eyes and yanks open a drawer, determined not to break down anymore. How much more can he possibly take? “But if this is the only way I can help him, then it’s the only way. Even if it hurts so much.”

It won’t hurt the most, after all. It won’t hurt as much as having to let Langris go so their parents can bury him. Just thinking about that is enough to make Finral dizzy.

Anything but that. Anything but that beautiful smile laid cold and motionless forever.

He comes back for his shirts with trembling hands, ignoring the concerned noise that Zora makes in his direction. “Anyway, you came to check on me. I’ll be fine. Once Rill comes back and gives us an answer, we can go from there. If the answer is no… I’ll think of something. Figure something out. Maybe I can find somewhere to hide him myself.”

Maybe spirit him away to one of the mountaintops that Langris loves the flowers from so much, cool and clear and away from anyone. No one would be able to find them there. Finral will take care of him, care for him and help him recover until he’s well.

“You’ll be fine,” Zora echoes, and Finral’s shoulders twitch. “So you’re not fine right now.”

“Of course I’m not fine. I’m waiting for someone to come tell me that I’ll never see my brother again maybe, but… What’s the alternative?” Finral slams the drawer shut, his voice breaking on his words, his face hot. Too hot. “If I can’t find another option, then I’ll lose him one way or another. How… How many more attacks like that can he survive?”

Maybe one. Maybe two. Maybe none. Maybe another one will be enough to kill him.

Soft footsteps on the floor, Zora’s voice lowering in a way Finral has never heard it before. “Finral, calm down. I know you’re upset, but you need to calm down.”

“I know that!” Finral shoves his hands against his face, trying to slow the burn of tears in his eyes, unwilling to let any more fall. “I’m his older brother. I’m the adult. I should be the one holding it all together for him, but I… I don’t want to lose him, Zora, I  _ can’t. _ ”

He can’t bear to never see Langris’s familiar smile again. It would kill him.

“Believe me when I say you’re preaching to the choir about this one.” Zora hovers next to him, like he isn’t sure what to do, how to respond. Finral can tell how close he is, the familiar warmth of his mana like a comforting embrace without even touching him.

His ash magic doesn’t feel like the familiar burn of the Vermillions, so hot it could raze anything to the ground in seconds. Zora is warm, reassuring, tender in a way that belies what lies beneath the sharp smile, the silver tongue, the biting words.

The words remind Finral that while he might have the potential to lose someone, he hasn’t lost a single family member yet. Not any that mean something to him, and the guilt stabs him between the ribs as he twists around. “I’m so sorry, Zora, I shouldn’t… I…”

“Gross, don’t you fucking dare try to show me any pity or I might actually have to kill you.” Zora throws his hands up, as if to ward off anything Finral might say, so Finral obediently bites his lip and nods. “I’m fine, okay? It was a long time ago. I just mean that I know what it’s like to lose someone important to you. I know you’re scared of that. I get it.”

“It wouldn’t be the same. At all. He’d be alive and well somewhere, that’s not like—” Finral shoves a hand over his mouth before he can say something he’s going to regret.

“Like my dad being dead?” Zora deadpans, and Finral winces at how bluntly he says it and wonders if it’ll ever be that easy for him to talk about Langris if he never sees him again. “You’re right. It isn’t the same thing, not even marginally close, but you should take some comfort in that. You haven’t been told you aren’t going to see him again yet.”

Finral wipes away the few stray tears that have escaped his eyes, nodding as he sniffles pitifully. “You’re right. I do need to calm down. Rill still hasn’t come back yet.”

“That’s right. You could end up getting to see him as much as you want. Maybe they’ll even give him back to you when he’s feeling better.” Zora stretches out a hand to ruffle his hair, and Finral offers a rueful smile in return. He feels like such an idiot now.

Zora is not the affectionate type, not casually like the rest of them, but it feels strange to just stand here and do nothing. Still, chancing a hug seems like a way for Finral to find himself washing all of his laundry over again to get the stink bug scent off of him.

So he settles for something that might still convey his gratitude without having to do anything that might get him in trouble. “Your dad must have been a really great man. If you ever want to talk about him, I’ll shut up and just let you talk as much as you want.”

“I try not to dwell on the past too much, but maybe one day.” Zora clears his throat and twists his face away, and Finral wonders if the offer was too much for him. Or if he might have embarrassed him by saying anything at all, which is better than being tricked. “Thank you, though. Anyway. I’ll tell the vice captain you’re fine. And  _ stop _ mourning shit that hasn’t even happened yet. Like I said, you might get the kid back right away.”

Finral nods, taking a deep breath to loosen some of the pressure in his chest, between his ribs. Part of him will be anxious until Rill comes, but… Zora is right, in the end.

He has no reason to mourn something that hasn’t happened yet. He needs to be strong for Langris, to hold out hope for him. Stand tall so that Langris doesn’t have to be afraid.

“Thank you for the help. That conversation helped me a lot.” It got him out of his head and made him stop for a moment to breathe, and for that Finral is beyond grateful. “I hope you get to meet him. He’s as much of a smart mouth as you are on a good day.”

“Insulting me. He’s  _ insulting _ me after how thoughtful I just was.” Zora presses a hand over his heart, the perfect picture of mock offended except for the way his mouth twists into a familiar smile. “I’ll look forward to meeting the little brat since you’re so fond of him. You’re a nice enough guy but he’s the only thing you’ve ever really been passionate about.”

_ Passionate. _ Finral swallows hard against the sudden tightness in his throat and nods, his smile just a little forced. “Of course. He’s a great kid. I think everyone would like him.”

“I’m sure he’d be welcome here. Everyone likes  _ you,  _ after all.” Zora pats him on the shoulder, a reassurance, and Finral twists his face away this time. Cheeks flaming, because he appreciates it, he does, but he’s always overwhelmed when anyone talks about the Black Bulls liking him, as a group. In a general sense. Because only one member of his family does.

Zora excuses himself after a few more minutes of casual conversation and Finral throws himself across his own bed, mattress still warm where Zora was lying on it.

When Rill comes back and he has his answer, he has to be strong for Langris no matter what happens. If the fae do not want to get involved, Finral needs to be willing to do whatever it takes to get his brother away from their parents before it’s too late, even if it means damning himself to imprisonment if the two of them are captured. Not that it would be easy. Finral’s spatial magic does have its uses, after all.

And if the fae agree to take him… Finral might have to say goodbye. Forever. He has to be ready for that, too. To let go of his little brother if it means Langris can survive. And he knows  _ he _ has to be the one who pushes Langris to agree, because he won’t naturally do it.

Finral doesn’t doubt Langris would risk his own life so the two of them could stay together.

But Finral wouldn’t survive losing him, watching the life drain from his eyes, the color slip from his face, the strength from his limbs. The days where Langris spent all hours in bed except needing to relieve himself killed him, knowing that any other child his age would have been up and and about, brimming with more energy than he knew what to do with. Watching Langris slowly die just to be with Finral… No. That is not going to happen.

It would hurt to hand him over to the fae and never see him again, but Finral has to be ready for that eventuality. If they say yes, it might end up that way. If he has to say farewell, if he has to give his brother one last kiss goodbye, then he  _ will _ do it.

And he ignores the way his stomach keeps flipping every time he remember the way Zora said  _ passionate. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is gonna hurt, fam


	8. Chapter 8

When his parents start introducing meat back into his diet, Langris plays nice at first.

Playing nice means spending half an hour after every meal heaving over the edge of the toilet, stomach aching, throat burning, eyes streaming. Playing nice means muffling his tears against a sleeve instead of calling for Mother and Father to come comfort him. Playing nice means, when Mother does inevitably discover him getting sick, Langris bites his tongue and lets her scoop him up into her arms and smother him with kisses.

Playing nice means not begging them to stop forcing the food down his throat until he chokes and gags and vomits it back up less than ten minutes after swallowing it.

“I just don’t understand what could be the matter,” Mother says, sitting on the side of his bed, having pulled Langris over so his head rests in her lap. “You were doing so well for a few days… No matter. We’ll get you right as rain again, my darling.”

Langris doubts that but says nothing, curling a hand in her skirts as he sniffles. “Okay.”

“I’ve been letting him push himself too much in training,” Father muses, leaning against the wall next to the window, surveying the expanse of the gardens stretching out below. As if anything could be crueler, to position Langris close to flowers he cannot go near. “We’ll slow down on that. He’ll be accomplished enough once he receives his grimoire anyway.”

_ My grimoire. _ The thought makes hope unfurl in his chest, a reminder that this will have to come to an end sooner rather than later. “I’ll do better tomorrow, Father. I promise.”

“Don’t you worry about it right now.” Mother smoothes her hand down the side of his face and Langris closes his eyes. During moments like this, he never knows how to feel.

He has lain awake entire nights at his worst and wondered if his parents loved him. He knows neither of them love Finral, not truly, not in the way parents typically love their children, but they always acted like they loved Langris.  _ Acted, _ he would think, and wondered if they truly loved him. If their efforts to save him despite him begging them to stop making him eat things that made him sick were born from their concern for him. Their belief that their way was right, that the healers were giving them the correct information.

Moments like this make it hard for him to puzzle out the truth, when Mother is so gently touching his face, reassuring him. When both of his busy parents are making time to see him and spend time with him even though Langris is always sick, always like this these days.

He wishes their family could be normal, and he knows so much of that is his fault. Maybe Finral would have trained harder as a mage if he spent less time preoccupied with Langris being so sick. It must have been hard to grow up seeing Langris’s body refuse to recover.

After all, Langris has no memories where he  _ wasn’t _ sick. It must have been distressing to watch it slowly take over his body until there was nothing really left of him.

“Lady Vangeance wants to bring her daughter by soon to see you,” Mother says, and Langris tries not to frown. Right… His potential fiance. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yes, Mother. I’d like to meet her.” Even though Langris has no interest in her, no interest in finding a wife. No interest in a stranger, signing his life away in some predetermined fate that means so little to him. There is only one person Langris thinks about spending his life with, finally making up for all the time the two of them have lost together.

_ Nii-san. _ Langris has not seen Finral at all recently, but he’d listened closely to gossip and knows the Black Bulls have been busy on their missions. He’s so proud of his brother that sometimes his chest aches fiercely and his stomach flutters and flips, so happy to know Finral is working hard. Their parents have always been wrong about him.

Father smiles warmly at him, and Langris tries not to grimace at the thought of having to dress up and entertain some girl he has never met before. “When you feel a bit better, we can arrange it for you. For now, just rest and get your strength back.”

“Yes, Father.” There is no point in arguing about any of this, and Langris knows that. Accept it, move on, and know that he can leave this house before he has to fulfill any sense of obligation to it. Besides, he’s too young to think about marriage anyway.

Mother frets over him for a while longer, combing her fingers through his hair and talking to Father about possible options they should try to make him feel better. None of it will actually work, and Langris knows that. Until they figure out why his body rejects so much of the food they give him, he is never going to get better. Until they figure out what truly caused the night that scared all of them so much, there is no way to be sure it will never happen again. And none of the healers have ever had an answer for them.

“All right, darling, I’m going to leave you be for now.” Mother leans down to kiss his forehead, and Langris smiles slightly at the gentle show of affection. Maybe… Maybe things can still get better with his parents. “Try to get some sleep if you can, and perhaps dinner will set easier on your stomach. And do  _ not _ try slipping out of bed.”

Langris promises not to, and Mother tucks him into bed, kissing his forehead one more time before she and Father leave the room, closing the door behind them. He stares up at the ceiling above him, thinking about how many days he has spent wasted because he needed to lay here and recuperate his strength. Sighing, he waits as patiently as he can before slipping out of bed, careful not to disturb the bedcovers too much so he can hop back in as quickly as possible. Then he makes a beeline for the bathroom en suite.

This is the only room he frequents that has a mirror in it, and his hands are already fisted in his shirt, tugging it up as he comes to stand in front of the reflective glass. Neither of his parents, nor Finral, are probably aware of how carefully and closely Langris has been monitoring the changes to his body, but he has as soon as he noticed them.

Namely, the way he can  _ see _ the shape of his ribs beneath his skin, more and more obvious every time he stops to examine them in the bathroom. Proof that he’s losing weight.

_ It wasn’t this bad before, _ he thinks, fingers tracing the shape of the bones as he shivers. But it took his parents a significant amount of time to catch on to his habits of sneaking food he could actually eat, and the flowers… And they keep Finral away from him more often now, ensuring his brother can’t bring him the actual food he can eat.

And Finral has no idea, because Langris has never said a word to him about it.

“Nii-san…” Langris shakes his head and tugs his shirt back down, hands flying up to cover his face as his shoulders jerk with a silent sob. He takes a few deep breaths, palms pressed against his eyes, because now is not the time for him to break down.

How can it be so much worse now than it was when Finral visited? It hasn’t been that long since he last left, so his body shouldn’t look so markedly worse.  _ What’s happening? _

A shiver rolls through his body and Langris wraps his own arms tight around himself, trying to hold what body heat he can inside. As he loses weight, it gets more and more difficult for him to stay warm, making even warmer seasons like this one difficult for him. Winter will be worse, and he knows that by far, but winter is still a long way off. Luckily. The one time life might actually be on his side, and it has nothing to do with him.

The hollow ache in his stomach draws a soft whine from his lips, and he twists away from the mirror so he doesn’t have to see the weakness carved into the lines of his face. He needs to eat something that will actually stay down. Vomiting means  _ everything _ in his stomach is emptied by the time he stops, not just the food his body refuses to take.

If he lets it go much further than this, he’ll be too weak and cold to leave his bed, so he has to do  _ something _ about it. Maybe… Maybe he can risk one trip to the gardens…

But not right now. He needs to get warm. Maybe he can sneak out sometime tonight.

Dinner goes about as poorly as Langris expects it to. He cuts the pieces of meat on his plate into the smallest pieces he can, careful not to chew them too much so he doesn’t have to linger on the slimy, foul taste in his mouth. No matter. As soon as he finishes the meal, his stomach roiling unpleasantly, he darts to the nearest bathroom to throw up.

His body holds the food for less and less time. The rejection seems so rapid now.

A hand smoothes through the hair on his forehead, fingers lacing there to hold it out of his face as he heaves. He should be used to it by now. The way his stomach violently churns, the bile hot in his throat, the taste on his tongue, the way his entire body hitches and shudders violently. His eyes are wet with tears by the end, the force of the vomiting making them stream, leaving him weaker than he was when he came downstairs.

_ I can’t handle it much longer,  _ he thinks, slumping against the basin, hands clinging to the porcelain desperately for something to anchor himself.  _ It hurts too much. I can’t handle it. _

If he was younger, he’d break down like he used to. Cry until Mother would pull him into her arms and hold him, but it does him no good now. It never earns him anything other than how much worse he feels when his eyes are wet and swollen and stinging from dryness.

His fingers dig into the porcelain instead as he anchors himself. Do  _ not _ cry. Do  _ not. _

“Easy now.” The voice is unfamiliar to him, as is the hand that rubs slow, soothing circles into his back to help him calm down. “Do you want a drink of water, Langris-san?”

That voice… Langris peeks over his shoulder up at the maid standing there, the one Finral chased out of his bedroom when he came to visit. “Please? I need to wash out my mouth.”

“Of course.” Another gentle pat to his back before the woman stands, and Langris has a few precious moments to gather himself as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

His legs tremble like a newborn fawn as he slowly pushes himself to his feet, every step slow and careful as he walks to the sink. It takes all the remaining strength he has to stay standing, but Langris refuses to be carried or to sit on the bathroom floor. If he ever wants to escape this place, he has to force himself to be strong when it hurts.

The maid returns in minutes, carrying a glass of water in one hand, the other moving to support his back as he takes it from her with trembling fingers. “Are you all right?”

“I’m tired.” He hates admitting it like that, but he would rather seem exhausted than seem weak, because a little rest would cure the former while the latter may never improve.

“That’s understandable. I’m sure it takes a lot out of you.” The maid watches as Langris slowly raises the glass to his lips, sipping just enough water to swish around in his mouth to get the foul taste of bile and half-eaten food out of it. “Finral-san seemed very concerned about you when he was here. He and I talked about you for a time that evening.”

Langris spits the water into the sink, eyes darting up to the mirror above the sink to catch the maid’s gaze. Despite himself, he is a little curious. “What did he want?”

“Hold on just a moment, will you?” The maid pats him gently on the back and Langris tries to remember her name as he washes his mouth out with water again. He watches her in the mirror, the way she walks back to the open doorway and slowly eases it shut. The door closes without so much as a  _ click; _ she was sneaking it closed. “He asked me why Liliane-sama no longer keeps flowers in the house, and I told him the answer.”

Trying not to wince at the deeply unpleasant memory, Langris spits again. The next sip of water he timidly swallows, hoping it settles his empty stomach. “Mother doesn’t like them.”

“I know why we aren’t allowed to have them in the house any longer. She told me why.” The maid offers him a sympathetic smile, and Langris looks away from her expression, staring down at the rest of the water in the glass. “I tried to tell her and Ledior-sama that some plants are in fact perfectly edible, and there’s nothing wrong with eating them—”

Langris gently, so gently cuts her off, because he doesn’t want to seem overly rude to the servants his parents hire. Even those who have been cruel to him, not that this one has. “I don’t eat the ones that are edible. I know which plants you’re talking about, though.”

The maid sighs softly, and her hand is gentle on his back. “I know. I was told you have a certain fondness for the flower petals themselves, and not just edible ones.”

“I like roses.” Langris takes another drink of water, the hand stilling against his back just once before it starts to gently move again, tracing a pattern he cannot quite figure out.

“And roses are an edible flower, Langris-san. There’s… Nothing wrong with eating them, at all. My former mistress had roses used in decorating several dessert dishes, I’d know.” The maid sighs softly, but it wounds almost wistful, not at all like she’s losing her patience with him. “I’ll do as your parents say, but I disagree with them on it. If you can keep something down, that should be what you’re eating. Are you going up to bed now?”

The hour is still early, but Langris nods, unable to do much else with the way his body seems to crave nothing more than to melt to the floor. “Yes. Will you escort me?”

“Of course. I told Ledior-sama I would.” The maid slips an arm around his waist, and though Langris would normally detest this level of assistance, he needs it right now.

He finishes the glass of water and allows himself to be led from the bathroom, leaning on the woman more heavily than he wants to. “Thank you for the help…” He trails off, realizing he never asked her name. He rarely does; his parents cycle through servants so quickly that he barely has time to speak to them before they’re replaced again.

“Camille,” the maid says, and Langris nods as he tries to focus on keeping his legs moving.

Sleeping this early in the evening almost always guarantees that Langris will wake up in the middle of the night when the house is dark and shadows cloak everything. This is what he wants, though. The later the hour, the fewer servants awake, since only the bare minimum work in the evenings, and Langris has been good ever since the attack.

Playing nice means his parents do not set a servant to guard his room at night, so he should be able to sneak out and downstairs to the garden without a fuss being made.

“Do you need any help getting ready for bed?” Camille asks, letting him step away from her once he crosses the threshold into his bedroom. “Or have anything brought to you?”

“Another glass of water would be nice. I can get changed myself.” And when she leaves the water on his table, Langris will retrieve his cat from his closet. Sleeping with it has been the only source of comfort he has, tucking his face into its glossy brown fur at night.

As soon as Camille leaves the room, Langris finds one of the shirts he stole from Finral’s room as soon as he found out his brother was sent away from the house. The fabric is thin from so many washings, old certainly, and far too large to properly fit him. That’s fine as far as Langris is concerned. He takes it to the bathroom with him, wondering how pathetic he is that at thirteen, all he wants is for his brother to be here, to hold him.

The shirt is the closest he can get to that, wrapped up in that strange ozone scent that seems to follow his brother anywhere. The scent of spatial magic clinging to his skin.

Langris leaves his own clothes in the basket in the room, shucking them all off and tugging the shirt over his head. Far too large for certain, settling over his frame, long enough to come almost all the way down to his knees. But he feels warmer in this. Safe, somehow.

_ Idiot, _ he chastises himself.  _ He isn’t here just because you’re wearing his shirt. _

But if he closes his eyes tight and focuses on just that smell, maybe he can pretend for just a moment that Finral is in the room with him. It might help him get to sleep.

The glass of water is on his bedside table. Camille is nowhere to be seen.

Langris closes his bedroom door and retrieves his cat from the closet, cradling her against his chest as he slips into bed. He takes a few drinks from the glass of water to ease the horrible tacky dryness in his mouth that always comes after he throws up, then snuggles down beneath the covers to try to get some sleep. If he has any luck at all, he will, in fact, wake up in the middle of the night and be able to sneak downstairs to eat.

These days, Langris doesn’t have any dreams or nightmares that penetrate his rest. Sometimes he wonders if he doesn’t have the imagination for them anymore.

Waking is always a slow process, because he feels so groggy after resting, but he slowly sits up in bed and listens to the rest of the house as he does. Stretching his limbs carefully, wincing at the soreness in his stomach, the weird soreness in his back. From bending over the toilet most of the day? For sleeping in a weird position? No, he always sleeps on his side. Maybe he strained it or something. Hard to say, really.

The glass of water on his table has been replaced with a full one, and he takes a sip.

His feet are nearly silent on the floor as he pads to the bathroom, having to twist around carefully so as not to hurt his back more, pulling his shirt up. There is no sign of anything to explain the soreness, no bruises or marks. Nothing really out of the ordinary.

Except for the scars near the small of his back, but he’s had those since childhood. A risky surgery after some complications, or so he’s heard. Too young to remember what happened.

Whatever. He can worry about that later. Food now. Roses down in the garden.

The house is dead silent when Langris cracks his door open, peeking around the shadowy hall before he dares to step into it himself. He should have put something thicker on, maybe pants underneath his shirt, but all he has to do is go down there quickly, eat, and come back to bed. Surely he can manage that trip without needing anything else.

And there are no servants on his way downstairs, which is a relief. Some of them would tell his parents right away, and he just… He needs to eat. His body is wasting away without food. At this rate, he won’t be able to last the two years it will take him to get his grimoire and leave home, and that’s assuming he even gets it on time.

The gardens are Langris’s favorite place on the estate, making it all the more cruel in his eyes that he is never allowed to enter them without an escort. The sweetly floral scents make his mouth water and his stomach rumble, but he only pats it gently to quiet it and steals along the cobblestone path that twists through the blooms. Roses are further back, so he needs to walk a bit to find them. Taking him out of view of the doorway.

And if he knows exactly where to step to stay out of view of the windows, having examined the gardens from each one carefully, then it only works to his benefit.

The fatigue in his muscles is heavy. The exhaustion plaguing his body is thick. Today has been a bad day, not as bad as some but still terrible. And Langris is well-aware of the fact that it only feels so bad because his body isn’t holding up like it used to.

Running to Finral feels like such a distant memory. He couldn’t run now if he had to.

He picks his way around the hedges until he finds where the roses have been planted, lush blooms open wide to the moonlight pouring thick and silver from the sky. Langris tilts his head up toward the cold light, his eyelids fluttering shut for just a moment as he drinks it in. It never warms him the way sunlight does, but something about being wrapped in the natural sweetness of the garden under the moon still soothes his soul.

If he could, he would have a bedroom with glass in the roof if only to let in the natural light even at night. Wrapped in moonlight and stars, Langris would sleep so well.

But no time for sleep now. He shakes off the sleepiness and turns his attention to the flowers instead, the lush petals that make his mouth wet with saliva. He has to be careful, because grabbing a handful is tempting, but noticeable. They have gardeners, and he’s sure at this point that they have been instructed to look for missing roses.

Especially roses. The little purple flowers that Finral brings him are by far his favorite in the world, but his parents would never dare to grow those after Mother caught him eating them. But the roses are almost as nice, and they’re what his body wants most right now.

Careful of the thorns, Langris plucks a rose free from near the bottom of the plant where no one will notice it missing. There is no visible hole in the greenery here.

He glances around the garden as he carefully plucks a petal from the rose, his hands trembling slightly from the chill in the air. There is no mana near him right now, no sense of anyone who might be close enough to stop him. It feels wrong, somehow, feels taboo, but Langris quickly tucks the rose petal between his lips and bites down.

The sweetness bursts across his tongue, tears stinging his eyes. He rapidly shuts his eyes to keep from crying, though a soft whimper leaves his lips as he quickly chews and swallows. All he wants to do is revel in the taste, the floral tones dancing along his tongue and the inside of his nose. Some humans think roses are too perfumed, too sweet.

Langris thinks they’re delicious. And he quickly plucks another petal free of the plant to follow the first, stuffing it into his mouth as his knees tremble beneath him.

Getting back to bed is going to be difficult. Climbing stairs is harder than creeping down them. But for now Langris delights in the taste of the flowers, the sweetness of the roses. The way everything around him smells green and alive and  _ perfect _ for a change.

Not the stuffiness of the house. Not the stale air and the tension and the agony.

“I thought you might be out here when I saw your bed was empty.” The voice is a familiar one and Langris squeaks, his entire body jolting as he turns to see who’s joined him. He never noticed her mana growing nearer, and he should have paid attention.

Camille stands on the path just behind him, her lavender hair drawn up into an intricate knot on top of her head, glowing silver beneath the moonlight. Her eyes are gentle, far more so than Langris has seen them, but he does not know what to do. She stands between him and his path to freedom. Are his parents already coming? He probably couldn’t escape now no matter how badly he wants to. What are they going to do to him now?

“You don’t have to be afraid. I didn’t tell your parents. I thought I might find you out here, anyway.” Camille steps closer to him, crouching down, her arms folded on her knees as she looks up at him. “You threw up right after dinner. I thought you might be hungry.”

Langris swallows down the petal in his mouth, remembering what she’d said before he went to sleep. About talking to his brother. “You aren’t going to tell Mother and Father?”

“Not at all. In fact, I brought you a present.” Camille reaches into her apron pocket and extracts something wrapped in paper, the type bakeries use for certain breads and cakes. “When I saw you were awake, I crept down to the kitchen to get it for you.”

“But why?” Langris doesn’t take it from her, not sure what to think of all of this. None of the servants have ever taken his side before. Not like this. Not after catching him.

Camille unfolds the paper for him, and the sweetness of cake wafts up to his nose over the garden smells. It stands out so much because of how different it is— And how much he wants it. “You’re hungry, Langris-san. You’ve been sick all day, throwing up what your parents make you eat. Far be it from me to make it all the worse for you.”

“But everyone else always does. Other servants… They told them.” He remembers the last time he tried to sneak down to the garden, how quickly he was caught.

His parents keep the ones who catch him. He knows that. It’s why he’s so careful now.

“I know, but that hasn’t made you any better, has it? Nothing they do works.” Camille holds the cake out to him, and Langris reaches for it without thinking. It smells sweet, like honey, and is warm in his hand. “The healers can stop it for a little while, though I don’t think most of them are proper healers. They just look like it to the untrained eye.”

Langris only half-hears her at first, bringing the cake up to his lips to take a tentative bite. Honey cake after all, warm and sweet on his tongue, heavy too. One swallow makes his stomach immediately demand more to compliment the lighter petals. “What do you mean?”

“Talking to Finral-san is what put the pieces together for me. I kept wondering, but there was so little tangible proof that I couldn’t be sure. Until he told me more.” Camille folds the paper up carefully and tucks it back into the pocket of her apron, and her smile is… Strange. Soft, it meets her eyes, but almost wistful, almost bittersweet.

“What proof?” Langris presses, taking another bite of cake. It’s so good. He rarely gets to have dessert when dinner makes him so ill, and his parents never want him to eat too many sweets because it would be bad for him. Most of the time, anything sweet he has comes from when his big brother comes to visit and is there to sneak him some treats.

“The illness starting when it did, the flowers, the way that only certain foods turn your stomach, the fact that those never seem like proper healers…” Camille shakes her head, laughing, but the sound is… Rueful and strange. “I feel like such a fool for not getting it. Go on and finish eating, Langris-san. It will get far worse before it gets better.”

She stays with him until he finishes the cake, until he finishes eating enough roses to sate his hunger, and she never says a word about any of it. Never gives him an unkind look for what he eats, or how. It’s the first time Langris has ever dared, but something about her… Is soothing. Like maybe she doesn’t think something is wrong with him.

He’s never eaten flowers in front of Finral before. The thought of his brother looking down on him with the same abject disgust as his parents broke him so thoroughly that he could never bring himself to do it. What if he lost Finral? He couldn’t survive.

Camille walks him back upstairs to his room, stopping just inside the doorway, leaving the door open behind her. “Langris-san, I want you to know it will get worse before it gets better. But it  _ will _ get better. There is always hope that comes along after.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.” Langris rubs his eyes, the fatigue settling so heavily over him that he just… He wants to sleep for so long. For hours. For  _ days, _ even.

Today was a bad day, but at least he finally ate something that stayed down.

“I know, but it will. Now wash up and get back into bed.” Camille pats the top of his head and takes her leave, and Langris heads for the bathroom. He can’t get the sheets dirty.

He doesn’t notice at first. Washing his hands up, washing his feet, wiping away the dirt and rinsing out the washcloth so that it isn’t apparent what he was doing tonight. He’s tired and distracted, and he doesn’t think anyone would notice right away. It’s only after he finishes and glances at himself in the mirror, habitually, that he notices the change to his face. That he stops and leans forward, fingers tracing over his cheek. Is something there? Something… Some kind of mark, different from his skin tone, just barely visible, but—

The pain hits him so suddenly that Langris drops to his knees. Hands splayed on the tiled flooring, braced against the cool surface, as he chokes and sprays blood on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy something is happening


	9. Chapter 9

Moonlight bathes the interior of the bedroom, soaking every shadowy corner in silver and dancing in the brilliant blue of Langris’s eyes. Finral wants to swoon, barely resisting the urge as he cups his brother’s cheek, bowing his head so their foreheads are pressed close together. They rarely get this time with one another, and so often he allows it to escape them, dripping from his fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. But not tonight.

“Nii-san.” Langris grips Finral by the arms and smiles up at him, balanced on his knees on the mattress, fingers knotted tight in Finral’s shirt. “You shouldn’t sneak in like this.”

Finral scoffs at him, letting his brother cling to him as he likes, knees pressed against the edge of the mattress. “Damn them both, I’ll do whatever I want to do. They keep us apart too much, and it isn’t fair. I  _ want _ to be with you. Don’t you want to be with me?”

Small pink lips twitch upward in a delicate smile as Langris ducks his head, color blooming soft and warm across his round cheeks. “Of course I do. I always want to be with you.”

“I should take you away from here sometime. Where neither of them can ever find you.” Finral cups his chin, tilting his head up as he leans closer. Pressing his forehead against Langris’s, laughing when his brother whines and squirms. “We’d probably have to stay on the run for a while, but that’s okay. You know I can protect you from anything.”

“Even Mother and Father?” Langris cocks his head and Finral nods, tilting his head, pressing a kiss to his brother’s cheek just to feel the way the small body trembles slightly.

The edge of the mattress digs into his knees, but Finral refuses to cross that final barrier between them until Langris tells him it is all right to do so. Giving this choice to Langris is important to him, letting his little brother know that Finral cares about him, will listen to him, will let him make the choices no matter how much Finral wants to make them himself. He would already be in bed with Langris if he had his way, but no. Langris needs to be the one who chooses, because if not him, Finral is going to do something he regrets.

Everything is Langris’s choice. That is how Finral decided this would be long ago.

“This is my shirt, isn’t it?” Finral skims a hand down Langris’s side, feeling the way Langris trembles minutely at his touch. The fabric of the shirt is thin, worn; he must be able to feel the warmth of Finral’s hand through it easily. “You stole it from my room.”

Langris dips his head, and the blush curling around his cheeks blooms into a beautiful rosy red at the implication. “I missed you. Sometimes it feels like you’re here if I wear it.”

“I missed you, too.” Finral’s fingers near the bottom of the shirt were it lays loosely against the warm plump of his brother’s thigh. It would be so easy so push it up, to touch him, to cross that final boundary and damn himself all for Langris’s love.

“Don’t ever leave again. And then you won’t have to.” The words are spoken with a brash confidence that Finral recognizes, but the undercurrent of pain, of heartache, is enough to tell him the truth. No matter how bravely Langris may speak, no matter how much he pretends that he is strong through this… Langris just wants to be with Finral. That’s all.

It makes Finral’s heart ache. The throb against his ribs is nothing new to him, born there years ago, nurtured by the distance between them and fertilized with the bitter tears he wept over the separation, the pain, the illness. Let no one ever say he never suffered for love, because Finral has done nothing but that. Has done nothing but torn himself apart again and again in some vain effort to save Langris, to protect him. None of it worked. He should simply take it upon himself to kidnap the boy away somewhere distant and safe.

Ledior and Liliane would never be able to take Langris away again. And Finral would spend the rest of his life using his inferior magic to ensure no one could ever touch his baby.

“Look at me.” He sways over the mattress, letting it keep him at bay as he cups Langris’s face in both hands. “I will never leave you again. You have my word on that, Langris.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Langris challenges him, but the soft  _ want _ in his voice overshadows everything else. The way his small pink mouth trembles, eyes glossy as if Finral would ever play such a cruel joke on him. When he says such things, he means them.

But above all else, he understands why Langris is so afraid, already prepared to weep over them being clawed apart again. “I will keep it. And I’ll do everything I can to prove it.”

“Everything?” Langris inhales shakily and Finral nods, watching him blink, long chestnut lashes fluttering rapidly as Langris tries to stay the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. “Then prove it. That’s the least you can do for me now, isn’t it?”

“How do you want me to prove it?” Finral can think of a hundred things, of a thousand sins he would commit just to prove to Langris that every word he has spoken is the truth.

The hands on his arms flex slightly before the small fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, refusing to let Finral move. They both know he could easily push Langris’s hands off and walk away if he wanted to, but this is so much about trust. About Langris trusting him even though he hardly deserves it. Langris needs to understand that Finral loves him and cherishes him and that these are not empty promises. He would rearrange the entire map of Clover Kingdom to Langris’s liking if that was what it took to convince him.

Langris looks up at him, trying to be defiant, but the softness in his eyes is always such a dead giveaway. No matter how much he may try to pretend, Langris is still a little boy, and Finral’s heart flutters against his ribcage. “Nii-san should kiss me to seal the promise.”

“Is that what you want?” Finral’s eyes have already dropped down to the soft pink lips, parted just slightly, damp enough to pick up a faint shine in the moonlight.  _ Beautiful boy… _

“Yes,” Langris whines, pulling at his shirt, trying to drag him into the mattress. Even now, his lean body barely has the strength for such a thing, and Finral is older and stronger than him. “Please kiss me. It isn’t fair. I’ve had to wait so long for you to do it.”

“That’s only because I didn’t want to hurt you. I wanted you to decide what you wanted.” And if Langris has chosen what Finral also wants, well… It works out in the end for them.

The sweet impatience on Langris’s face slowly fades, replaced with something more solemn as he gives Finral’s shirt another tug. “I know you would never hurt me. Never you.”

“Never me,” Finral agrees, and he lets a hand drop down, fingers tracing a path down Langris’s slender chest, across the line of his waist to grip one hip. “I love you too much.”

“And I love nii-san, too. So kiss me.” Again Langris pouts at him and Finral can do nothing but laugh, letting himself be drawn up onto the mattress, his arms already moving to draw Langris up against his chest, spilling him across his lap like he’s been so desperate to do.

Years spent chasing this specific dream, of hoping Langris would accept his love.

Small thighs wrap around his waist as Langris gets comfortable in his lap, his hands darting up to grip Finral’s shoulders for balance. As if Finral would ever let him slide or fall, cradling his body closer, nuzzling his face against the crook of Langris’s neck until the body shivers in his arms and whines. Finral could lecture him on patience, could teach him how to be denied and to drink it in and revel in the pleasure it can bring.

But not before giving him his first kiss, the one he’s been so desperately chasing.

“Look at me.” Finral bumps their foreheads together and Langris whimpers up at him, small body so warm in Finral’s embrace, pressed so close up against his chest now. How many times has he hugged his brother without getting to properly kiss him? “You’re beautiful.”

Langris smacks him on the shoulder and Finral laughs. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”

“I’m not. I just want you to know that you’re beautiful.” Finral slips an arm around Langris’s waist to keep him close, imagining what his hands will look like splayed across all that soft skin. Across his ribs, feeling the firm beat of his heart. Across his back as he holds him still— “You deserve to know how beautiful you are, little brother. Now relax.”

He watches as Langris takes a deep breath, slim chest rising and falling with the movement, long lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks as Langris looks away from him. Finral lets him have his moment to gather himself, but when those big blue eyes meet his one more, he leans down and cups Langris’s cheek so he can properly give him a kiss.

How many times has Finral ached for this very moment? The way Langris’s hands spasm on his shoulders before gripping tighter in anticipation. A warm mingling of breath between their mouths as Langris closes his eyes. It takes everything in Finral not to groan when their lips finally meet, Langris’s so achingly soft and warm under his own, so small. Easy to overwhelm him, to take control of the kiss and dominate him until he whimpers for more.

But Finral doesn’t. He kisses Langris slowly and sweetly, every movement of his lips carefully telegraphed so Langris can try to follow them if he wishes. His brother’s mouth is as soft as a cherub’s, slow and clumsy against his own, but that only proves he has no experience in this. That Finral will have to be the one who teaches him everything.

Finral kisses him, and he keeps it slow, keeps it gentle, but pours everything he can into each careful movement just the same. The years of longing, the ache of separation, how much he wants to be right here always, wrapped in Langris’s trembling arms as he shows him again and again how much he loves him, how much he needs and wants him. And the position plagues hell on his self-control, his brother’s little body pressed against his chest so tightly, legs splayed wide around his waist. As if Finral could just take him like this.

Not yet. Not when the poor thing is barely keeping up with his kisses. Not when Langris gasps and grips Finral’s shoulders harder and tighter when Finral dares to lick at his small lips. Tracing the delicate seam between them, shuddering when Langris opens them.

Groaning pathetically loud when a small tongue answers him, wet and soft and timidly licking against his own. Like Langris is trying to figure out what to do next.

“Was that wrong?” His voice is breathy and adorable when Finral leans back, needing a moment to calm himself. Unless he wants to start rutting up between his brother’s legs like a needy teenager who can hardly control his urges. “Was that okay, nii-san?”

“More than okay. That was exactly right.” Finral leans in to kiss him again and Langris is eager to comply, wrapping his arms around Finral’s neck, clinging to him so tightly.

His control would be so easy to snap right now, with Langris pressing down against his cock like this, with the wet warmth of his mouth opening up so willingly. Easy to imagine the way he’d cling and gasp and moan when Finral took him, easy to imagine the tight hot grip of his little body as he writhes and pleads for more. More that Finral would willingly give him.

But for now he just kisses him, smothering him with affection, basking in the warmth of his body, the way he whines into the kiss, hips shifting down against Finral’s—

The entire house shakes with the force of a thundercloud, and Finral yanks himself awake so suddenly, so forcefully, that he’s dizzy for a second after he sits up.

_ What the hell? _ He stumbles to his feet, untwisting his legs from the sheets as he throws himself at his bedroom door to listen. A high-pitched peal of familiar laughter echoes down the hallways and he sighs, thumping his head against the wood in understanding. Luck and Magna have ended up in another middle of the night fight to the death.  _ Damn them. _

It happens from time to time and Finral should be used to it, but… Most of the time the two are not dragging him out of a veritable  _ nightmare, _ and he needs a moment to gather himself. To take stock of the sweat dampening his skin, of the frantic beat of his heart, of how painfully hard his cock is straining against the front of his underwear.

What the hell is wrong with him? Why would he think about that, much less dream about it? Finral used to be normal. He swears he was. There was a point in his life where he never thought such… Lewd thoughts about Langris, where he loved him like a brother should and never even entertained the idea of… Whatever that was.  _ Kissing _ him like that. Thinking about fucking him, as if he can still feel the ghost of small legs wrapped around his waist—

Finral groans and shoves himself off of the door. Absolutely fucking not.

_ This _ is why he keeps asking himself if he’s doing the right thing for Langris or simply doing it for himself. This is why he drags his feet. That’s the first time he’s dreamed about kissing him, so this is getting worse. As if refusing to go away, to leave him alone.

He can almost taste Langris’s small tongue curling against his own, sweet and needy.

“The only thing he needs is to be healthy and safe,” Finral mutters, absolutely refusing to pay any attention to the problem he has below the waist. “And  _ you _ need to get some help.”

As if. The last thing he needs to do is admit to anyone that he has such awful thoughts and fantasies about his little brother. About the person he should by all rights be trying to protect and save, not trying to harm. Because it would hurt him so much. It’d break his heart to know that Finral has ever thought about taking advantage of him like that.

He can get this under control. He’s certain he can. He  _ has _ to get it under control.

Finral imagines their parents’ disgusted expressions if they knew even half of the content of his dream tonight, and that is enough to make his erection go down. Relief floods his system and he drops down onto the edge of the mattress, taking a few deep breaths to try to stabilize himself. A glass of water from downstairs and then back to bed to try to salvage what few hours of sleep he can, and he needs to avoid the idiots fighting.

Luck loves a good challenge, even if he has to invent one, and Finral is  _ not _ going to get dragged in between the two of them. He deals with more than enough on his own.

As soon as he feels like he can stand without his tired legs being too shaky to walk on, Finral throws a robe on over his underwear and heads downstairs. The layout of the house changes often enough for him to be used to it by now, and blessedly he makes it down to the kitchen without having to encounter Luck and Magna. Though the further he descends, the louder and more obvious their voices are. Magna’s screaming and Luck’s laughter.

And the unmistakable hisses and pops of fire and lightning clashing yet again.

Maybe Henry purposefully segregated them off in their own little corner of the house tonight to ensure neither of them would be able to cause significant property damage.

Finral thinks at first the three of them are the only ones awake, along with whoever else was woken by the fighting but was unwilling to leave their bedrooms over it. Most of the mana in the house feels calm and settled right now except for those two— And another one that he senses as he steps into the kitchen to retrieve a class. A familiar head of silver hair is poised at one of the counters, half-full glass of water sitting in front of her.

It would be rude not to address another member of his squad seemingly having a bad night, so Finral pours himself a glass and walks up to her quietly. “Hey. Is this seat taken?”

“No.” Noelle Silva does not look up from her glass, her voice distant and far away as she stares down into its clear depths. Her eyes are unfocused; Finral doubts she would notice if he took her glass away entirely. “Did they wake you up, too? It’s so late.”

“Yeah. You feeling all right?” Finral takes the seat next to her and sips his water, washing away the post-sleep dryness thankfully. The kitchen is cooler than his room, almost unpleasantly cold, but he doesn’t mind the chill if it keeps him relatively… Calm.

If he gets hard again, he might have to do something about it after all.

Noelle leans back in her hair, pushing a hand through her unkempt hair that looks so soft and sleep-ruffled. When her eyes finally meet his, wide and violet and lost, Finral wants to hug her. “I saw nii-sama today. I guess I just keep thinking that he won’t hate me.”

Oh. Finral swallows roughly at her words, taking another sip of water. “I didn’t know about that. I’m sorry. You don’t really talk about your family often, but it’s hard not to notice that the four of you don’t really seem to get along with one another.”

And anyone would notice the most obvious issue right away. Of the four Silva siblings, only one of them is in the Black Bulls. Finral doesn’t know the details because asking seems rude, but there have been rumors that Noelle was assigned to them on purpose.

“We don’t. I don’t think we ever will. I just wish… If even  _ one _ of them…” Noelle shakes her head, trailing off, a hopelessness settling over her that Finral recognizes all too well. “I don’t think I could ever convince them to care if they don’t want to, though.”

“That sounds… Awful, Noelle.” Finral has no idea what else to say, no idea what the right thing would be in a situation like this one. Despite his own family dysfunction, he knows very well that  _ most _ families seem to get along with each other very well.

He could only hope to be half the brother that Fuegoleon Vermillion seems to be.

Noelle nods, looking up at him, and Finral notices for the first time that there are visible bags underneath her eyes. “I used to think they’d come around as I got older. That I’d get my grimoire and that would fix things, because we’d be in the same squad. And then even if they didn’t like me, we’d have to get along for the sake of fighting together.”

And she isn’t a Silver Eagle. “Well, you can always prove them wrong with us, right? You’ve been getting stronger and learning how to control your magic. You’re going to be amazing.”

“Maybe. I just wish any of it was enough. If not Nebra nee-sama and Solid nii-sama…” Noelle shakes her head, and Finral tries not to flinch at the sound of those names. None of her siblings seem very pleasant to be around, but those two are by far the worst.

Finral has been with Noelle when the two of them have been near, hard to ignore the biting remarks they make toward her. He wonders occasionally if they would have preferred that Noelle died with her mother, but he knows better than to voice that out loud.

If they confirmed such a thing, he thinks it would break Noelle in more ways than one.

“If not them, then Nozel?” Finral asks, trying to keep his voice light, casual. Not wanting to get her bogged down in such misery right before she tries to go back to bed.

At last, she better. The last thing she needs to do is sit up all night alone.

“If I could make Nozel nii-sama understand, then maybe things would be better. He could at least make the others stop because they have to listen to him. He’s their captain.” Noelle looks at him again, and Finral has no idea what to do with the magnitude of sadness and need in her gaze. The fact she has had to live with this is disgusting to him.

It reminds him an uncomfortable amount of himself as well. Wondering if his parents loved him when he was younger, as they expected and demanded more and more. As they favored Langris above him and started to act as though he was hardly a member of House Vaude.

Family rarely makes it so easy to leave home, but they went above and beyond.

“You love your siblings a lot, don’t you?” Finral asks, and Noelle nods as she looks down at her lap. Stronger than she should have to be, loving them despite how poorly they treat her. Maybe it’s more apt to say she reminds him of both himself and Langris. “They shouldn’t talk to you the way they do, Noelle. No matter if they’re family or not.”

“I know. I know they shouldn’t. Nacht-san tells me that sometimes when I start thinking too much about it.” Noelle shakes her head, as if it changes nothing for her.

Probably it doesn’t, actually. They are her family, the only family she has had since she was a child, and Finral can only imagine how much she wants to cling to them despite their disdain for her. Without them, what else does she have? “You’ll get strong enough to show Nozel that he was wrong. And then he’ll owe you an apology for how he treated you.”

Noelle does not look up at him, but the question still pierces him through with the same fervent power as her despondent gaze. “Your mother passed away when you were born, didn’t she, Finral-san? I know you never mention her, but I’ve heard things growing up.”

“Yes.” Finral drains the rest of his glass, not keen on this line of questioning, but he knows where Noelle is going on it. Knows how badly she needs to talk to someone. “She did.”

“Did your father ever make you feel guilty for it? Like it was your fault purposefully? Like you would do it on purpose if you had the choice?” Still, Noelle does not look up at him, her hands tangled in the shirt of the nightgown she sleeps in. Poor, poor girl.

“No. He never said a word to me about it when I was growing up other than to tell me that it happened, but he never blamed me.” It was one of the only good things Father ever did for him, assuring him that he couldn’t have done anything about it if he wanted to. The complications were present before Finral was born, but his mother wanted him anyway. Risked her life to bring him into the world knowing what it might entail. “Noelle, I want you to know that it isn’t your fault. No matter what happens, you did not  _ cause _ this.”

Noelle finally glances up, but her expression is so doubtful it hurts his soul to see her this way. “Then why do they blame me for it? Why is nii-sama so distant? I never even had a chance to be a good sister to them because none of them  _ wanted _ me.”

Does Nozel Silva have any idea how close his sister is teetering to a breakdown, or does he just not care about her? Is that why he sent her away, after all?

“Because they’re idiots. Because they don’t know what real family is supposed to mean.” Finral sets his empty glass down and reaches for Noelle’s hands, taking them gently in his own. Hers are cool and clammy. How long has she been sitting down here?

Maybe Magna and Luck are not what woke her up from sleeping after all.

“I wish I had a brother like you who cared so much,” Noelle says, and Finral does his absolute best not to tell her how she very much does  _ not  _ want that. Has no idea what she’s saying. “I wish I had a brother who loved me at all. Or a sister. Or a father. I just…”

She sniffles and Finral leans over to hug her, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “Easy, easy, it’s all right. I know it hurts. My parents aren’t exactly fond of me.”

“It’s just so hard.” Noelle is timid about it, but eventually she hugs him back. Hard.

“We can’t be your blood family, you know, because we can’t just cancel out the pain you went through, but.” Finral pats her on the back. “The Black Bulls can be your family.”

Noelle nods, her head resting against his shoulder, and Finral lets her stay near as long as she needs. Maybe he can balance out the poison of his own uncontrollable thoughts with doing good deeds for other people, try to drain out the darkness himself. “I know. I keep thinking that to myself. It’s nice sometimes, having friends and a squad who cares.”

“You know we all love you, and we always will. Even if your family keeps acting the way they do.” Especially if they do, but Finral doesn’t say that. As long as Noelle needs the support, the Black Bulls will be there to give her what she needs. It’s what they do, after all.

When she leans away from him, the shimmer of tears in her eyes has abated. “Thank you for talking. I guess I just had a bad dream and needed to talk to someone about all this.”

“I know what you mean. I really do. Nightmares are difficult, especially if they just put everything you’re already worried about at the forefront.” Finral pats her on the shoulder and Noelle nods, picking up her glass to finish her own water. “I’ll walk you back to bed.”

Finral rests a hand in the small of her back as they slip back into the hallway, the curious quiet of the house putting him on edge even though he should be relieved that their resident two idiots have apparently burned themselves out. He gives himself a shake, offering Noelle a gentle smile when they reach her bedroom door, letting her have another hug before she slips into the darkness of the room. Hopefully no more nightmares tonight.

On his way back to his room, he bumps into Magna. The younger man looks utterly exhausted, and not just from whatever late night spat he ended up in because of Luck. Rather, Finral thinks it’s partially that combined with the fact Magna appears to be carrying an unconscious Luck in his arms, small body folded against his chest.

“Did you finally kill him?” Finral asks, chuckling when Magna scowls at him.

“No!” The furious shout of his voice makes him wince, and Finral clicks his tongue in sympathy as Luck shifts slightly in his arms. Alive after all. “He fell asleep on me after we finished fighting, so I’m just… Taking him back to bed. Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?” Finral arches an eyebrow, more amused with the situation than he should be.

Magna looks away from him, making it all the more apparent when his cheeks stain a familiar brilliant crimson. With no poker face whatsoever, of course he loses at cards all the time when he and Yami go gambling together. “Like something’s going on.”

“I don’t think I implied something was going on.” Finral watches Magna seemingly full-body spasm, as if worried he might have just revealed his own thoughts. “All I see is you taking your best friend back to bed after he fell asleep on the couch. Very thoughtful of you.”

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s right.” Magna shifts his arms just slightly, and Luck sighs in his sleep. Tilts his head closer to Magna’s chest, mouth falling open just a little.

They do look cute together, Finral thinks, but both of them are idiots. Nothing might ever happen if someone does not nudge them along. “And if there was something going on anyway, I wouldn’t judge you for it. It’s up to you to handle your personal life. Not me.”

The words earn a stuttered complaint but he just brushes past the two of them, not in the mood to argue with Magna about not being so concerned about this. Not being so worried about it. But he only gets so far before a soft call of his name has him stopping, turning to see what his squad mate wnts. Because Finral can never just properly shrug someone off.

“Yes?” He watches as Magna shifts Luck in his arms again, and it occurs to him that it must be taking a lot of physical strength to do that. He’s probably tired this late at night, and exhausted from fighting, and he still chose to carry Luck back to bed rather than leave him wherever he passed out. A better man than most would be while still in denial.

“It’s none of my business. You can tell me to fuck off if you want.” Magna turns to face him, and Finral cocks his head. Waiting. “You holding up okay having to wait?”

Ah. That’s what he’s asking about. “I’m okay. It’s a long wait, but it’s going to be worth it if Rill comes back to say the fae said yes. And then this nightmare can finally end.”

“All right. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Magna tips his head, then turns to carry Luck off around the corner. Probably trying to find his bedroom.

If Finral was a meaner person, he might joke that Magna would have an easier time of it all if he just admitted to himself how he felt and shared a bedroom with Luck instead.

Instead, he lets them leave in peace and returns to his own bedroom. The room is cool and the sheets are a mess, but Finral strips them without thinking about it and replaces them instead. Soaked through with sweat in places, so he may as well just wash them tomorrow to give himself something to do. For now, it’s time for him to head back to bed—

“Finral-san!” The door to his bedroom bangs open so hard it makes him jump, stumbling and nearly tripping over his own two feet. He has to throw his hands out to catch himself on the mattress, and even  _ then _ he almost faceplants. “Finral-san, Rill is here!”

_ In the middle of the night? _ Then Finral realize that it’s Charmy standing at the door, her hair in an inelegant bird’s nest, her clothes all twisted and rumpled and speckled with pink dust that glitters in the faint moonlight.  _ How does she know— Wait. _

“Sorry to keep you waiting so long!” Rill edges past her into the room, and he looks just as mussed as she does. Twigs and leaves are tangled in his hair, giving him a more whimsical appearance than he already has as they contrast against the soft cloudy blue. “It took a really long time for them to make a decision. See, sometimes fae  _ take _ babies, but—”

Finral blinks at him, then realizes that it’s  _ Rill _ and launches himself across the mattress. He almost falls on the floor, swinging his legs under him at the last second as he vaults over the edge. Worth it. So worth it. “What did they say? Did they say yes?”

“I might have cheated and told our best healer about the situation first so that he’d be stubbornly on my side.” Rill laughs at the notion while Finral’s heart slams into his ribs, beating so rapidly that it feels like it’s trying to escape from his chest cavity.

He would let it, if it means Langris is safe. It doesn’t matter what happens to him.

“What did they say?” Finral repeats, stumbling over to the fae, barely catching his balance as he tries to make sense of Rill’s words. Healer, healer. Rill’s mentioned him before.

Charmy throws her arms wide. “They said  _ yes, _ ” she singsongs, and Finral freezes.

“But we don’t have much time,” Rill says, and Finral blinks at him, wavering still, so tired and shocked it takes him far too long to respond. “So we should try to go do it now.”

_ “Now?” _ In the middle of the night? Finral wracks his brain for what kind of schedule the night servants are on and if it is early enough for the main group of them to be waking to prepare for the day. The night is still dark, so probably not, but the risk of it all—

Rill nods, taking both of Finral’s hands in his, and the familiar shiver of fae mana that blankets his body calms him. Steadies him. No part of Finral will ever understand how it works, but he has caught on to it in time. “Now. While everyone is still asleep and the forest is lively. Raia-san and Letra-san promised to meet us at the edge of the forest.”

“I don’t know who those people are,” Finral says. It means nothing to say that at all and he knows it, but his tired brain can only seem to reject those as people he might recognize.

“Don’t worry, they’re both good fae. Strong. Letra-san has spatial magic similar to yours so that we can transport Langris quickly. The faster the better.” Rill beams up at him and Finral nods, wondering at the aspect of a fae with his spatial magic. Like, a  _ fae. _ “But I don’t know if you’ll be allowed to go with him. Or if they’re going to keep him. Everyone agreed that they wanted to see his condition before they made any other decisions.”

Again, Finral nods. All fair as far as he is concerned, and he holds onto the hope, vain as it may be, that the fae will let him stay with Langris and will give Langris back to him. Whatever it takes to prove to them that he loves his brother and will take care of him, will never let their parents have him back to harm him. He would do  _ anything _ for Langris.

Rill gives him a little shake. “Get dressed, Finral. We’ll talk about the plan while we head there. We have a few hours until sunrise, and that should be enough time.”

A few hours. A few  _ hours _ and Langris will be free. Instead of years. Instead of days and months and years of pain and anguish and suffering. Langris will finally be  _ free. _

Finral throws his arms around Rill and squeezes him tight, careful of his wings, aware of the way the fae squeaks before hugging him back. Almost no hesitation. “Thank you,” he breathes, because he has to. Because Rill is going to save his brother’s life.

_ Hold on just for a few more hours, Langris. I’m coming to save you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shit here we go


	10. Chapter 10

Langris shivers underneath the layers of blankets piled on top of him, weak hands grasping uselessly to hug them tighter around his body. No good, not really. The chill sunk deep into his bones refuses to abate. His muscles ache from it, spasming and jolting against the sheets. And yet his clothes are soaked through with sweat from the fever that refuses to end. The burn on his skin that makes the room feel laced with winter air.

He wants to be warm. Wants to curl up in front of a fire with a blanket over his back so no part of him can ever feel cold again. Wants someone to hold him, folding him against their body so that heat can ease the frost in his veins. But he only wants one person to hold him.

“Having a bad night, aren’t you, Langris?” The voice is quiet at first, almost too quiet for Langris to notice. His eyes swivel around the room, picking out nothing in the shadows. “They left you in here, this sick? All by yourself, no one taking care of you?”

The voice is familiar to him. Langris tilts his head from side to side. He can barely find the strength to move, exhausted from days of check-ups and sickness. “Nii-san?”

He knows this voice. He would know this voice in the depths of his darkest dreams.

A soft sigh dances through the air and Langris whimpers, fidgeting beneath the covers as he tries to find the source of it. “Poor thing, all alone. That’s how it’s always been, hmm?”

_ Always? _ Langris’s arms quiver as soon as he presses his palms against the sheets, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. He can barely move. “Nii-san, is that you?”

Of course not. Their parents would know the instant Finral appeared in the house, especially this late at night. They would put a stop to that, send him away and ridicule him for arriving when Langris is so sick. Blame him for causing it even though he was not here, because there has been no recovery from the last attack. Just more pain. Anguish.

“Who else would come to see you when you’re like this, Langris-chan? You know Mother and Father have been staying away from you.” The sickly sweet tone makes Langris’s stomach churn, and he whines at the familiar pain. Everything hurts, and he’s so hungry.

But nothing has stayed down in days. Even the smell of food is enough to make him sick, bile burning up his throat. Souring his tongue until that taste makes him vomit.

The ghost of a touch against his cheek. Langris twists his head suddenly to the side, and he thinks… Maybe someone is there, in the shadows. “Nii-san? Are… Are you here?”

Movement in the darkness. Langris flinches slightly, but the sensation of warm lips touching his forehead makes him keen in want. “Like I said, who else would come see you?”

“Please, I…” Langris breaks off coughing, but the hand that touches his face does not move. Instead, fingers trail ghostlike down his cheek until the fit has eased. “I can’t… Nii-san, I want to leave please. Take me somewhere else, I don’t care where.”

“You want to leave home? Never see Mother and Father again? I could never bring you back.” The fingers brush along the front of his throat, and Langris shivers.

But he nods, because he needs to get away from here. He needs to be somewhere safe, where Finral can take care of him and nurse him back to health. Can’t he see how much worse the illness has gotten in just a few days? “That’s okay. I just want to be with you.”

“And what if I don’t want to take you with me?” The question is soft, sweetly spoken, and makes something low in Langris’s belly drop so hard it hurts. “What a burden you’d make, a sick little boy who can’t stay on his feet for even a week. With  _ me, _ a Magic Knight?”

Langris presses his lips together, ignoring the bitter sting of tears in the backs of his eyes. “But… But you said you would. You said you wanted me to be with you.”

The hand drifts away from his face and Langris hears the soft unmistakable sound of footsteps in the room, echoing in the quiet space. Echoing so loud he whimpers, pressing his hands against his ears. They feel so… So wrong now, but he can’t tell what happened to him. What is wrong with him. All he knows is that Finral has never spoken to him like this and it scares him, the darkness in those words. The fears Langris has had since he was so small and Finral left home for the first time. That he would be nothing but a burden.

“Nii-san—” He starts, then yelps when something drops down on the edge of the bed. The whole mattress bounces, the jostling making his sore body ache. “Please stop—”

Laughter again. “Nii-san, nii-san,  _ nii-san. _ I’m growing so tired of that, Langris.”

Finral  _ never _ talks to him like this. “No, you… You don’t… Nii-san would never say that—”

The hand that grips his face is strong, digging into his skin, making Langris cry out against the rough palm over his lips. It hurts it  _ hurts. _ “Shut up. I’m so tired of listening to you. All this whining and crying when you were supposed to get stronger. What happened to that promise? That you’d get your grimoire and come to the Black Bulls?”

Langris squirms in his hold, grabbing for Finral’s wrist, fingers digging into his forearm as he stares up at where his brother should be. Tears burn in his eyes.  _ Are you really Finral? _

“Just a pathetic, sickly little boy who probably won’t even survive to see his fourteenth birthday.” The dark figure looms over him and Langris… Can see the shape of his brother’s hair, the styled  _ swoosh _ he knows is dyed green. The tears fall harder now. “Look at you, just a mutated little freak. No wonder Mother and Father are leaving you here to die.”

_ No. No! _ Finral would never talk like that. Finral would never take their parents’ side over his, and yet Langris feels the painful throb of his heart crumbling into pieces. Even though he is so sure this is not Finral— It  _ looks _ like him but Finral would never talk to him like this… Would he? No. No, his big brother loves him. He would never say these things.

Langris digs his nails into Finral’s arm until he swears and lets go. His legs are trembling but he pushes himself, shoves out from under the comforters and onto the cold floor. His knees buckle under the strain of his weight and he hits the wood hard, yelping at the shock to his already sore joints. He needs to get out of here. Away from this.

The room is eerily silent as Langris finds his footing and stumbles to the door. He does not dare turn around to see if Finral— if the thing  _ pretending _ to be Finral is there or not. Instead, he finds the doorknob with trembling hands and twists it as best he can. Pulling it open requires almost more strength than he has available, but he does it anyway and totters out into the hallway. Trying to find his voice, to call for help.

He feels so  _ bad. _ His stomach cramps violently from how empty it is, and he whimpers as he leans against the wall, wrapping an arm tight around it. No matter what he does, the pain refuses to abate. So sick now that even the food he  _ should _ be able to eat only smells bad. And his parents have done nothing about it. They just let him starve.

“Nii-san.” The name comes out faint and choked, and Langris rapidly blinks to clear his vision of tears as his head thumps back against the wall. “Nii-san, please help.”

But he knows Finral can’t hear him now. Too far away to do anything for him.

Langris drags himself down the hallway, using the wall as support. He whimpers at the way it rubs against his shirt and skin, tender and sore. If he has raw spots by morning, he won’t be surprised, and he dreads not being able to lay on his side because of it.

He has to get away from here. Somehow Some way. He has to get out of this house.

A choked sob leaves his throat as he claws at the wall, desperate to stay on his feet. He doesn’t want to fall again when everything hurts. “Nii-san, please. I need your help.”

Knowing Finral can’t hear him. Knowing Finral is not going to come to his side and save him, and Langris desperately wishes he’d begged last time. Begged Finral to take him away from here, promised him anything he could ever want if they could just leave together.

And now he’s going to die alone because their parents didn’t love him after all.

Langris stumbles and hits the wall harder, punching another sob from his chest as he struggles to see through his tears. The sky outside is cloudy, no moonlight spilling through the windows to help guide his way. He’s lived in this house all his life and every angle of it seems foreign to him, seems wrong. Where is he? How does he get out of here?

_ What if I don’t? _ The thought is frenzied and helpless, and he sobs bitterly as he pushes himself forward despite it. He probably won’t. But he has to try, for Finral. He has to try because his brother would never forgive himself, and Langris knows that.

Even as he tries to tell himself that the shadowy figure in his room who sounded and looked like Finral wasn’t him. Couldn’t be him. Could it? No, Finral wouldn’t let him just stumble down the hallway crying like this. Finral would never say those things, the things that Langris only thinks about in the very back of his mind. That he isn’t strong enough, that his parents don’t love him, that Finral would think him a nuisance…

He just wants his big brother to come and make everything okay again.

When his legs refuse to carry him any further, Langris sinks down against the wall, pressing his hands to his face and crying softly into them. His face itches but is so raw from crying and scratching over the last few days that he refuses to do it again no matter how much he wants to. By the time Finral sees him again, whether soon or when he’s in a coffin at his funeral, Langris is going to look such a mess to him.

_ Mutated little freak. _ His shoulders hitch violently and he presses his face harder against his fingers, willing it all to stop. Just long enough to keep moving. To get to the front door.

His head aches fiercely but he still notices… Something, something different and  _ wrong, _ a mana Langris has never felt before in his life. He looks carefully through his spread fingers, sniffling softly, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. Someone is here, and not someone Langris knows. Not one of the servants, who have such weak mana in comparison to his family. This mana is… Strong, lively. Too strong, it’s almost scary.

A soft frightened sound leaves his throat as he tries to track it in the house, but can’t quite manage. Every effort on his part makes the pulse in his scalp harsher, stronger. Langris can do nothing more than he is now, pushed to the limits.

Finral would be so ashamed of him, when the Black Bulls have always been about surpassing limits to keep fighting. He’s talked about it so much, how could Langris ever forget?

Footsteps echo in the hall, and Langris glances up fearfully to see… Finral walking toward him, from the direction of his bedroom. Barely visible in the shadows, but…

“You didn’t get very far, did you?” His brother’s voice is still syrupy sweet and strange, and Langris cowers away from him. Something is wrong here. This… This isn’t his brother, is it? “Pathetic. It’s like you really would prefer to die in this hell hole rather than be with me. So it’s fine for you to plead and beg but you won’t put forth the effort yourself.”

“I’m trying.” Langris’s breath hitches and he doubles over as another coughing fit begins, his chest burning, aching. He doesn’t think it’s going to end, and he doesn’t expect to hear the din of Finral’s laughter over the top of his hacking and choking. “Nii-san,  _ please _ —”

“Nii-san,  _ please, _ ” Finral snaps back at him, and Langris squeezes his eyes shut, slamming his hands over his ears. He can’t stand it. The way Finral talks to him, the way his voice sounds, the cruelty of his words. This is not his brother. It can’t be, it just can’t.

The unfamiliar mana drifts closer to him and Langris whines softly, pinned in place. Not sure what to do, where to go. If anywhere is safe. If he can even find the strength to move now, so close to freedom and yet so far from the front door. If he could just get his feet under him, if he could just… But he can’t. It feels like all his strength is gone.

Rough hands grip his wrists and yank them away from his ears, and Langris recoils when he feels hot breath on his cheek. “Pathetic, are you  _ really _ my brother? Even at my lowest I was never sniveling on the ground like this. Get  _ up _ unless you really want to die here.”

“I can’t. Everything hurts.” The strange mana is growing closer. Langris is sure of it now, even through the pounding in his head, the soreness in his body. “Please help me.”

“Do you really think I’d come back for you if you were going to act like this? Pitiful. What a crybaby.” Finral kneels down next to him, and Langris can feel the weight of his body, the warmth of him, and he wants to lean into it. He’s so cold, but Finral is so mean. “And you wanted to be my squad mate. No… You wanted to be more than that, didn’t you?”

Langris’s heart thuds harder against his ribs and he shakes his head, immediately denying it, because no. No, that isn’t true. It could never be true. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Laughter, harsh in his ear, making his head  _ throb _ in answer. “My cute little brother, but being my brother isn’t good enough for you, is it? That’s not why you want to be with me.”

“It is!” Langris tries to wriggle free but he has nothing left in him, and the grip on him is so tight. “I want to be with you because you’re my big brother and I love you.”

“Oh, I  _ know _ how you feel, trust me.” But the way he says that makes Langris cringe away from him, the dark tone of his voice. The words feel… Slimy and gross, like something more is in them that Langris can’t quite puzzle out. What does he mean? And why would he—

Langris sees something at the end of the hallway. Some faint… Glow? Getting brighter as it moves closer. And the swell of unfamiliar mana with it makes him tremble.

“Time’s up, little brother. Looks like they found you.” Finral kisses him on the cheek  _ hard _ and Langris curls tighter to the wall, knowing it’s too late. He can’t run now. He can’t—

There is one thing he can still do, if he can find the strength. Just long enough to give himself a way to escape, just long enough to run. His trembling legs protest the very thought, but Langris can do this. And if he can’t, then he might die here tonight.

His eyes are still streaming with tears but he blinks them dry, his mana trembling in response to his desperate bid to use it. Just a little. Just enough to give him a chance to run. Once he reaches the stairs… He shudders at the thought, but shakes his head. He can get down them, somehow. But he has to get to them first, get to them so he can find his way to freedom. Because if he dies here tonight, there will be no escape at all.

And he doubts a stranger sneaking around in his house has good intentions.

The strain summoning even a portion of his spatial magic puts on him is immense, but Langris grits his teeth and does it anyway. He only needs a little. Enough to wound, because pain can be enough of a shock to slow a person down. And his magic isn’t so easily dealt with. As long as he aims it correctly, everything will be fine.

The shiver of purple mana in the air makes him think of Finral’s eyes. That is enough.

As soon as the glow gives way to a figure, solid enough but hazy in Langris’s vision, he aims. He throws the spatial magic as hard and fast as he can, watching it slice through the air toward the figure at the bend of the hallway. And he pushes himself up to follow it.

His legs ache. His head throbs. The mana needed to loose his spatial magic makes him feel weak and shivery, but he has to keep going. If he can make it outside, maybe he can make it to freedom. Maybe he can find his way to Finral. To his brother’s side.

Not the Finral behind him. The one who mocked him. The one who hurt him. Langris doesn’t understand but he  _ knows _ that cannot be  _ his _ Finral. His brother loves him and always has.

Whatever is going on, whatever nightmare this is, Langris can still escape it if he just pushes himself to try. If he digs his teeth in and refuses to let go.

His hazy vision cannot quite make out the figure or why it glows, only vague colors. Mostly he focuses on his own spatial magic, watching it not collide but slice  _ through _ the figure’s leg. The scent of copper reaches him as he bolts past the person, whoever they are, ignoring the sudden shout of pain, the  _ drip drip drip _ of blood on the floor.

Now all he has to do is make it to the stairs, and everything else will finally be over.

Langris trips halfway there and  _ crawls _ until he can get his legs up under him again. The mana is right behind him, but he keeps running. The pounding in his head is all he hears now, clanging against the inside of his skull. It refuses to stop. Why?  _ Why? _

He gets his feet back under him. He runs the best he can toward the stairs.

Running down them will be impossible in his condition. He can only imagine tripping, breaking bones on the way down, smashing his aching head into the steps. He might die by the time he reaches the bottom, but not… Not yet. Langris would have accepted death at one point but freedom is close now, and he wants to be with Finral again. One last time.

He doesn’t reach the stairs. A pair of arms shoot out of the darkness and catch him before he does, and Langris yelps and wiggles helplessly in the hold around him.

“Calm down, calm down, it’s just me.” The voice is familiar. Soothing. Camille. Langris looks over his shoulder to make sure it’s her. He can just barely make out her features in the dark. “Where are you going? It isn’t safe for you to be out of your room.”

“I have to leave. I want to go to nii-san.” It’s the best, most coherent thing he can manage.

The mana is coming closer again. They have to move. They have to move  _ now. _

Camille swears under her breath and lifts him off of his feet, bearing his weight easily in her arms as she hurries down the hallway to the stairs. She takes them easily where Langris would have hurt himself, bounding down them so quickly he’s surprised she never trips. And on they go, covering the distance in the house in rapid, easy strides.

Langris can sense the mana still, but not as close.  _ Can’t run injured, can you? _

They reach the ground floor of the house, something Langris only knows when they spill through a pool of silver and out into the gardens. Confusion swirls through his mind because the front door would have been better, safer— But no. Nowhere to hide out there. Nowhere safe, no shadows that would have cloaked him. Camille keeps to the same path he did days ago, picking through the deep shadows hidden from the windows.

“What’s happening?” Langris’s voice is small, weak to his own ears. He’s so tired that keeping his eyelids open is difficult now, but he has to. He can’t go to sleep now.

“I don’t know. I only woke up when I heard the yell.” Camille stops near the place they met last time, the white rose bushes. Her grip on Langris is firm, tight. “You look so much worse than the last time I saw you. How can that be? You were better last time.”

Langris shakes his head, wiping at his eyes frantically with trembling fingers to get the tears out of them. He needs to be able to see, to be less useless. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Camille sets him down gently on the path, the cold stones making him shiver but he can’t exactly demand she hold him right now. She might need her hands. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart, it isn’t your fault. It’s never been your fault. You know that, right?”

“I know.” It never quite feels true. Like he should have been able to stop it somehow. Like there should be something he can do to fix it even as his exhausted and weak body refuses to do anything but continuously break down on him. And now, Langris might never get better. This feels… Too bad to recover from. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

It hurts, thinking about how his parents have always wondered why he couldn’t just be a normal boy. As if Langris has ever wanted to be some sick, pathetic little freak of a child.

A hand touches his cheek, wandering up to comb gently through his hair. “Langris, you need to know— What’s this?” A gentle tugging sensation, and his scalp prickles with it.

He looks up through hazy eyes to see Camille holding something in her fingers, slim and long and not anything that Langris really recognizes just by looking at it. His vision is hazy, greying around the edges, and he wants to lay down. Curl up and sleep. The only thing that keeps him awake is the sudden sharp intake of breath, the way Camille’s mana pulses.

“What’s wrong?” Langris tries to focus his vision. It’s a failing effort at best.

Her hand slides through his hair again anyway, displacing more of the slim objects— Pins? Langris doesn’t remember putting pins in his hair, but Mother might have done it the longer he was in bed. Sometimes she would, when he was bedridden for so long that his bird’s nest hair was impossible to escape. Easier to keep it out of his eyes that way, keep it tame until he could wash it and brush it and tidy it up again.

“Langris…” Camille trails off, but the profound  _ hurt _ in her voice makes him whine softly in answer. “These are  _ iron _ pins. Why would they put  _ iron _ pins in your— Oh,  _ baby. _ ”

“Are there other kinds?” Langris hardly pays attention to such things. It never occurred to him that he should, but the sudden emotional quake in her voice made him think otherwise. Maybe he should have been paying close attention.

“Yes, but that doesn’t matter. Hold still.” Camille draws his head closer, her fingers careful as she picks through his hair, leaving the pins on the stones next to him. Maybe a dozen total, nothing unusual given how much hair Langris has and how thick it is.

His vision is a little clearer by the time she finishes, a little more awake than he was before, though the hazy grey is still there. “What’s wrong with iron pins?”

“You’re allergic to iron, sweetheart. Putting it this close to your skin was probably what made you feel so poorly. Do you remember when it happened? Who did it?” When Langris nods, confusion ebbing into his mind alongside everything else, Camille presses a trembling hand to her mouth. “They were probably trying to kill you and have done with it, then.”

“Wh-who?” But he already knows the answer, can see it in her eyes, glimmering with tears.

In all the years that Langris has been alive, he has seen very few of the servants in the house use their magic for anything. But now Camille’s grimoire flutters to the ground next to him, resting on top of the pins, the pages glowing as the pages flutter.

“I wanted to wait until I was certain you would be safe, but your body keeps rejecting the spells themselves.” Camille touches his cheek where it hurts the most. “You poor baby.”

“What are you talking about? Who tried to kill me?” Langris’s head swims with this information as Camille’s grimoire finally settles on a spell, her hands rising, glowing a soft pink in the air between them. “How did you know I was allergic to iron?”

The brush of her mana makes his skin tingle, and he looks down on instinct alone. Her mana is pink, but the lines that appear on his skin are a deep, rich black so dark the moonlight above hardly shows against it. The faint glowing purple edges of the lines seem to wane, the color of poison. It makes Langris’s skin crawl to know something like this has been on his body… But how long has it been here? Since he got sick? When did this start?

“That’s what I thought. Your mana is overpowering it. They couldn’t keep this up forever without telling you.” Camille’s eyes stream freely now, her breathing hitching around her words. “I knew you were allergic to iron because you aren’t human, Langris. And you never have been. And if you let me dissolve this spell fully, I can show you that.”

Not… Human? Langris’s eyes widen up at her. “Then what am I? What are you saying?”

Her smile is small and grim, and it does not even come close to reaching her eyes. “Let me remove the glamour and show you for yourself. You’re not a monster, so don’t fear that.”

_ Not a monster. _ But he already feels like one, wishing he could rip the black lines across his skin off, dig them out of his body. But he can’t. Had no idea they were even there, pulsing and dark and twisted. “Please, I… I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t, and I don’t know if I have time to explain it to you.” Camille waits, her hands hovering, and Langris squeezes his eyes shut and nods. She might as well do this.

Whatever has happened to him… It couldn’t have been done for good reasons.

The touch of her hands is light but the surge of mana is overwhelming. Langris twists away from it violently, shuddering as it rolls across his skin, hotter than any fever he’s ever had. The black lines on his body shiver and then  _ shatter _ , flaking away into nothingness as he writhes on the pavement beneath him. His headache pulses and pulses and Langris  _ screams _ when it feels like it cracks, hands flying up to grab at his scalp.

And then it slowly dwindles, leaving him trembling and sobbing on the cobblestone. The throbbing fades until he realizes Camille is petting his hair, whispering down to him.

“It’s all right. The worst is over now.” She isn’t looking at him, but rather toward the pathway they came. And that is when Langris notices the approaching mana.  _ Oh no. _ “I see I wasn’t the only one who noticed the truth. It was about time someone came.”

Langris is too overcome to do anything but lie there, watching as the soft glow from the hallway bleeds into the air around them. Now that he can see, that his vision is clear, the figure that appears before them… Explains the glow, and a soft gasp tears from his throat. Because the person before him is not some malevolent figure.

The person is not a person at all. Fluttering in the air before Langris is a fae.

“There you are! I was so worried you might have gotten hurt.” The fae smiles down at him, and he looks… No, he doesn’t  _ look _ familiar. Not quite. Langris has never seen this fae before, but he matches the description Finral gave him a thousand times before.

Huge pink wings frame a short small body, the veins running through them a deeper shade, matching the bright rose-colored eyes that meet Langris’s without hesitation or fear. It contrasts… Interestingly with the bright tuft of pale blue hair atop his head. The facial markings that all fae have, the deep magenta color, are shorter than most. Starting just below his eyes, curving delicately down to his jaw bone. They look almost like flowers.

_ This _ is who the strange mana belongs to. Langris blinks up at him in open shock, trying and failing to push himself up with trembling arms. “Who… You’re Rill. Are you Rill?”

“That’s me.” The fae flutters closer to him, leaning down to look at him properly, and that’s when Langris notices the strange, pulsating mana wrapped around his leg. It shifts in shades of blue and green, never quite constant. “You must be Langris. Finral always told me about how your spatial magic worked, and I still wasn’t anticipating it.”

“Did I hurt you?” Langris’s eyes widen in shock, in fear. Finral is going to  _ hate _ him.

“It was my fault. I should have told you who I was as soon as I thought I’d found you.” Rill offers him a hand, his smile bright, friendly. Easy. “Come on. Let me help you up.”

Langris takes the hand offered to him and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. His knees wobble violently but Rill catches him by the shoulder before he can fall. The touch of his hands is reassuring and warm, and it chases away the bitter chill in Langris’s bones better than any fire ever has. Without meaning to, he leans into it, looking for more.

Rill’s brows draw together slightly as he lands, favoring just one leg. Wincing slightly, because the other must be hurting him. “Wait a minute. Finral said you were—”

“Finral-san, didn’t know.” Camille rises slowly to her feet, though her eyes are on the house beyond them now. Where the servants must be slowly waking, where Langris’s parents are likely waking after all the running. “I ascertained that myself when he knew less than I did. I don’t think he would have known, so you’ll have to be gentle with him.”

Rill glances at her. “Who are you? I don’t remember Finral saying anything about you.”

“A maid. She works here.” Langris sways on his feet again, but Rill keeps him standing. “She helped me. She… Took some kind of spell off of me? I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh, I see. Come here, you look so tired.” Rill lets go of him and Camille helps him brace his weight while the fae reaches for… Not a grimoire but a palette? His grimoire flutters into view of its own volition, the pages glowing as Rill swirls a brush across the palette.

Color spills from his hands, splashing through the air, swirling into the shape of a large, pearlescent dragon that gleams in the moonlight spilling down from above. Langris stares at it in complete shock. He had no idea that anyone could create something like this, even though he knows creation magic lets mana be shaped into all sorts of things. The dragon is simply larger than anything he has ever seen, and far more detailed still.

“We really shouldn’t dawdle too long here. Finral is waiting.” Rill reaches for him and has him off of his feet before Langris can protest, his wings beating against the air as he flutters up to the back of the large beast. “We’ll explain to you once we get you away.”

Camille runs up to the edge of the dragon, and Rill glances down at her. “You have to get him to a healer right away. Maybe back to the forest if you can. His parents put iron pins in his hair. I found them when I took the glamour spell off of him.”

“Glamour spell.” Rill spits the words out and Langris blinks up at him, shocked at the sudden toxicity in his voice. “Well, I thank you for your services in helping him! I’ll tell Finral about this. You should probably hide the pins so his parents don’t know you know.”

“I will. I’ll tell them I tried to protect him, but I couldn’t. And thank you for coming to get him. I don’t know how much longer he had.” Camille looks at him then, and Langris wonders why she would have gone so far for him. If he’ll ever know, or if she’ll be sent away because he’s leaning the estate. “Go have fun with your brother, Langris.”

“Thank you.” And if his voice is slightly choked up, then so be it.

The dragon’s wings move through the air in graceful sweeping motions, the huge beast airborne in a moment, soaring through the air over the gardens. Langris scrambles for something to hold onto and finds himself held tight to Rill’s chest, the fae humming softly down at him as he masterfully commands the dragon at his leisure.

“What kind of magic is this?” Langris asks, looking up at him curiously.

“Picture Magic! It’s my ability. Anything I paint can become real.” Rill smiles down at him, and the expression is nothing but kindness and warmth… And a hint of sadness. “You don’t know what you are, do you? You don’t know what your parents were hiding.”

When Langris shakes his head, Rill brandishes his brush again. His magic this time curls into the familiar shape of an ornate mirror, one that lands in Langris’s lap. He has to reach for it quickly to keep it from sliding off as the dragon soars a bit higher in the air.

He raises the mirror slowly, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Hard to notice anything but how sick he is. How pallid his skin, the sickly green undertone making him since, the way his eyes are bloodshot from crying and sleep. The blotchiness on his cheeks from how much he wept in the hallway, with… No. That wasn’t Finral. Because Rill is taking him to Finral now, where he will be safe. He’s going to be safe with his brother.

Langris forces himself to focus, and now… Now he sees why his ears felt strange beneath his hands. The way they’ve grown, sharply pointed at the tips. The reason his face felt so itchy and raw, the magenta swirls spilling down from his forehead, curled beneath his eyes.

Fae markings. Fae ears. Iron pins in his hair, because iron is poisonous to a fae.

“What?” Langris blinks at his own reflection, and the mirror dissipates in his hands as Rill braces a hand on the dragon’s back. “I don’t… I don’t understand. I— I can’t be—”

“It’s going to take you time to get used to it, of that I have no doubt. Springing it on you like this is unfortunate, but I don’t think there was any other choice to be made.” Rill’s arm tightens around him, his chin coming to rest on top of Langris’s chin. “This explains… A lot of what Finral explained to us. Fae can’t eat meat or eggs, they make us sick. Something that your parents should have known. And they made you eat them anyway.”

Langris stares down at his own hands bitterly, at his trembling fingers. “I… I can’t…”

Rill hugs him tighter, and Langris closes his eyes. No more crying. No more. “This is going to make things tricky. My people—  _ our _ people— agreed to take you in so they could heal you. Finral’s been so worried about you, but we have the best healer in the forest.”

“Finral asked you to do that?” Langris’s heart hurts at the thought, that Finral really was looking for a way to save him all this time. That… That  _ hallucination _ was wrong.

Finral loves him. Finral loves him enough to go to such intense lengths for him.

“But with you being a fae, this is going to cause a lot of trouble. Our people don’t take kind to mistreated fae, much less mistreated children. But we’ll worry about that when we come to it. For now…” Rill pats the dragon, and it dives downward toward the ground.

It lands neatly and then dissipates from beneath them, lowering them both gently to the grass beneath and well away from the Vaude property. Langris stumbles on his feet but never has the chance to fall, swept up into arms that squeeze him so tightly, hold him so close. He knows these arms, this scent, this warmth, and the tears come unbidden. His weak arms curl around familiar shoulders as he nuzzles into his brother’s throat.

“Oh, Langris.” Finral’s voice is choked with emotion and Langris whimpers up at him in answer, refusing to let go of him now. He will  _ never _ let go of Finral ever again. “I’m so glad you’re safe. That you’re still alive. Oh, baby, I’m never letting them take you away.”

Rill clears his throat. “Finral, you need to have a proper look at your little brother now.”

_ Little brother. _ The words make Langris’s throat feel tight, his stomach churning at the thought of Finral seeing his face. Seeing him as what he is… Not Finral’s little brother, not really, he realizes. And it hits him hard, it  _ aches. _ And he worries suddenly that… That Finral is not going to want him now. That all of this effort will have been for nothing.

Langris cannot be both a fae and Finral’s little brother. Because Finral is human.

Moonlight fills Finral’s vibrant violet eyes as he looks down, meeting Langris’s own anxious gaze. There is a moment of confusion, of understanding, of breathtaking pain… And then Finral hugs him even tighter, crushing Langris against him. “My poor baby brother. I can’t believe those monsters did this to you. But we’re going to get you to safety now.”

He doesn’t care? He doesn't… He still called Langris his little brother.

The relief that spills through Langris has him sobbing against Finral’s neck, unable to do anything else. Finally free. Finally safe in Finral’s arms where he wants to be.

“Can we stop by your base before we go to the forest?” Rill asks. “I need Grey to take a look at my leg. I can get there with it the way it is, but uh… Unnecessary anger risk.”

“Absolutely. I want to get Langris dressed in something that covers him more anyway, he’s feverish so I know he’s cold.” Finral pulls him even closer and Langris feels the familiar shiver of spatial magic that unmistakably signals his brother using his abilities.

The two of them are going  _ home.  _ No one will be able to take Finral away from him again.

All Langris can do is weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've written over 50k of this fic so far to be slow burn and i am literally dying for every second of it i assure you


	11. Chapter 11

The common room of the Black Bulls headquarters is tense the moment Finral steps through the doorway with his brother cradled against his chest. He knew it would be. The moment Yami told him that likely no one was going to sleep tonight, Finral expected to come back to so many anxious sets of eyes trained on the door that he had no idea what to do with himself. Despite the way his family treats him, despite the shame he carries on his shoulders like a shroud, his squad have never given up on him.

Tension bleeds into palpable relief as Rill hobbles in after him, careful on his injured leg. “Sorry to keep everyone up so late, there were some unforeseen complications!”

“What happened to your leg?” For the first time since Finral has met her, Charmy hasn’t sequestered herself off with something to eat. Instead, she slips off of the couch she was waiting on, her gaze fixed on the paint swirls still keeping Rill’s leg standing.

Even Finral can tell something horrible must have happened to it; Langris whimpers faintly against his neck, his hands curling loosely in Finral’s shirt.

“It was my fault!” Rill announces, wincing slightly as he shifts position. “I shouldn’t have been sneaking around the house and scared Langris. He reacted the exact way he should have in that situation. Grey, do you think you could heal it for me? I can definitely go back to the forest like this and have William heal it, but I’d rather not.”

“I doubt the fae would be happy to see  _ two _ of their own in pain instead of just one.” The voice is Nacht’s, his gaze cold and emotionless as he meets Finral’s eyes.

That he knew so instantly is not lost on Finral, but Nacht has always been strange enough that he has no idea what to do but accept that his vice captain knows. “I didn’t know,” he says, and Nacht hums softly, his head tipping to the side. “How could I have known?”

“Two?” Yami frowns and stands, carefully so as not to displace where Nacht has yet again perched on the armchair that Yami favors. Is Finral the only one who has noticed this development, or has the rest of the team always known what he seemingly missed for so long? “I only see the one fae, so I don’t know what you’re getting at with that.”

“The boy’s mana is distinctly not human,” Nacht says, and Finral hugs Langris tighter to his chest, watching as everyone’s gaze drifts to where his brother clings to him.

_ His _ brother, because blood be damned. Finral has nothing but memories of Langris, nothing but a life with him, and he refuses to entertain the idea that Langris is anything but. The first person who tries to contest this with him is the first person he drops for it.

Grey’s laughter is sharp, shocky and nervous as she hurries up to Rill, gesturing for him to follow her. The renewed tension in the room must be a lot for her, and Finral doesn’t blame her for wanting to get away from it as fast as possible. “Rill, why don’t you come with me so I can take a look at your leg? We can do it somewhere where you can lay down.”

“Thanks so much!” Rill beams up at her and hobbles after her, and Finral watches the way he carefully supports himself on just the one leg. He feels guilty that Rill was hurt.

At least Grey can heal him. That much can be easily dealt with, and Finral is thankful.

“Can I see your brother?” Yami comes to stop in front of him, his gaze serious, the cigarette between his lips allowing a thin trail of smoke to curl up in the air between them. “I just want to know if Nacht was right, Finral. That makes this a hell of a lot more complicated, and we’re going to have to send someone to talk to Julius about this.”

Of course they do. Finral winces at the implication but nods, pressing a kiss to Langris’s hair, rubbing a hand up and down his small back. He can feel the knobs of his spine there; anger blooms in his gut. Langris has lost so much weight that it makes Finral want to go straight back to his parents so he can confront them directly about this. His brother needed better care than they were giving him, and because they were so stubborn, the only help they can rely on is the fae. And their reactions… Are going to be bad.

Even without the stories whispering during childhood about how dangerous the fae are, Finral would have expected them to be angry to see one of their own so injured.

Just the same, his arms tighten around Langris’s body, and he takes a step back from his captain. “I already said I was going to take him to the forest. I meant that.”

Yami’s face softens as he sighs, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, the bags under his eyes so dark against his skin. He must have set up so late waiting, just like the others did. “I know, Finral. No one is going to take your little brother away from you.”

Finral winces at himself, pressing his cheek against Langris’s hair. Of course not. He’s being stupid for assuming any of them would, especially when his squad has been nothing but supportive. “Sorry I just… He’s in such bad shape and I’ve only had people try to take him away from me my entire life. I know you wouldn’t do that, Captain.”

“I don’t blame you for being nervous about it.” Yami stretches out one huge hand that pats Langris so, so softly on the shoulder that the boy barely moves. “Look up at me, kiddo. I know you’re probably hiding your face looking different. You gotta know I don’t care.”

“He just wants to see if our vice captain is right,” Finral murmurs, and Langris blinks up at him, eyes bleary and exhausted and bloodshot. His night must have already been bad.

“Nii-san,” Langris murmurs, his voice so soft and hoarse. “Nii-san, I’m so tired.”

“I know, baby. We’re going to take you somewhere safe and you can rest as much as you want then.” And then this nightmare will finally, truly be over. Everything in place.

Yami leans over to look down at Langris’s face, at the magenta swirls delicately curling through his beautiful aquamarine eyes, the delicate points of his small ears. He looks so beautiful that Finral could weep, but he keeps his tongue behind his teeth as he wonders where his brother’s wings are. If there are fae without them, Finral has never heard of them, but he does not want to think about what happened to Langris’s wings.

“Nacht was right.” Yami brushes his hand gently through Langris’s hair, shaking his head as a heavy sigh leaves his lips. “This really does make shit more complicated.”

“He goes to the forest tonight. Anything else has to wait.” Finral will not budge on this. He couldn’t even trust his parents to do right by Langris. How can he trust anyone else?

“No, no, I’m not arguing with you about that. Kiddo here looks like he could use a nice long break away from all this with his own kind.” Yami glances up at him, and the expression in his eyes is hard, difficult to read. “Don’t make it harder on yourself, Finral. You know they’re gonna be pissed he’s in this shape. Are you sure you should be going with him?”

“If they blame me, it’s valid. I should have protected him,” Finral murmurs softly.

Nacht scoffs at him from Yami’s chair, pushing himself to his feet in one long, fluid motion before he crosses the room to stand with them. “No, you had no idea what they were really up to, and you did the best you could. Even  _ I _ am aware of that.”

“Either way, I’m going with him. I didn’t come this far just to let Langris go to strangers alone.” Whether the fae are his kind or not, Langris is Finral’s brother and Finral’s responsibility, and he won’t abandon him now when Langris needs him the most.

“You gotta do what you gotta do where he’s concerned.” Yami claps him on the shoulder so hard it jolts Finral’s body, and Langris whimpers softly against his neck again. “But if you don’t come back, if they don’t  _ let _ you come back, we’re coming to get you. He might be one of theirs but you’re one of ours, and I’m not letting them get pissed at you over this.”

Finral shakes his head, carefully pulling Langris closer to his chest, bracing his small body the best he can. “Don’t do anything that might get any of you in trouble. It isn’t worth it.”

“Isn’t worth it?” Vanessa nudges herself between Yami and Nacht, and Finral eyes the stack of fabrics in her arms, most likely picked out to sew Langris some appropriate clothes before Finral takes him to the fae. “It would be worth it to get you back, stop saying such foolish things. Now bring your brother here so I can get him dressed.”

“Dressed?” Langris picks his head up a little, but only just a little.

Gently, Finral presses their foreheads together, letting Langris know he’s close, that he is right here. “Vanessa has thread magic, remember? I told you about it. We’re going to get you dressed so that you’ll be warm. You have a fever, so I know you must be cold.”

Langris nods tiredly and lays his head back on Finral’s shoulder. “Nii-san is warm.”

“You’re probably going to have to hold him on his feet for me if he’s tired.” Vanessa smiles up at him and Finral nods, following her into the common room proper. At least the room is warm, and hopefully Rill’s leg will be healed up enough for them to head off to the forest soon. The less time his parents have to figure out what happened, the better.

If Rill left fae dust behind, maybe his parents will assume the fae came to take Langris.

They might have time, or they might not. Finral thinks they should have  _ some _ time, because his parents will want to comb the estate for Langris before they send out looking for him. Just in case he might have hidden himself away in one of the rooms in the estate, or out in the garden somewhere. A smart boy would have run from an intruder. Or he might have run  _ to _ one, depending on how miserable his home life happened to be.

Finral takes Charmy’s vacated seat next to Zora and carefully shifts Langris out of his arms, standing him on his feet, hands braced around his small waist. “Stand up for just a bit so Vanessa can sew the clothes, all right? And then I’ll hold you again.”

Langris nods, wiping the sleep from his eyes, but he looks ready to topple over at any minute. Poor thing must have had a horrible night. A horrible  _ few _ nights from the look of him, but all that ends soon. “Okay. You’re going to come with me, aren’t you? I don’t… I don’t want to go alone, nii-san, I don’t know any of the fae in the forest.”

“I’ll be there with you,” Finral promises, and in his heart he knows that is not a promise he may be able to keep. After all, the fae might not let him cross over with Langris.

Vanessa kneels down next to Langris, giving the sleep shirt he’s wearing a gentle tug, and Finral feels something in his chest  _ shatter _ when he realizes it belongs to him. One of his old shirts he left at the house, another that Langris must have snatched from his room to wear. And it makes Finral think of his stuffed cat, and he wonders if Langris still has it. He didn’t even think to ask Rill to make sure his brother had it before they left.

No matter. Finral can always sneak back in for just a breath of a moment and take it.

“Can you take this off for me?” Vanessa asks, and Langris blinks at her a handful of times before he reaches for the shirt with clumsy fingers. “Finral, maybe you should—”

Finral’s hands are there in an instant, careful of his brother’s delicate fingers too thin and small, like they might break at any moment. “Let me, baby. I’ll get it for you.”

The last thing he wants to do is risk embarrassing his brother by undressing him in front of the entire room, but Finral also has no desire to drag this out longer than need be. Langris is hardly awake right now anyway. As soon as Finral tugs the shirt off of him, his hands are already moving back to Langris’s waist to keep him on his wavering feet, and Vanessa is quick to drape the fabric loose around his shoulders and small torso. Not fast enough for Finral to miss how  _ skinny _ he is now, rib cage exposed enough to make Finral’s stomach drop so hard he swears he can hear it hit the floor. How  _ could _ they?

Nacht spins on his heel, but not before Finral sees the shiver of revulsion that rolls down his body. “I’m going to go wake Julius now. He needs to have this handled promptly.”

“Damnatio’s going to have to get involved,” Yami mutters, and Finral presses his lips together as he focuses on Langris, on Vanessa’s magic carefully sewing the fabric together so that Langris will have a warmer shirt to wear. “And that’s going to get House Kira in general involved. Not sure this is what the Vaudes had in mind.”

“They won’t have to worry about such flights of fancy soon. Damnatio won’t take kindly to learning that nobility exists who would harm a fae child.” Nacht jerks his head and  _ melts _ into the shadows beneath him, disappearing from sight as if he was never there at all.

“Why would House Kira need to be involved?” The question comes from Zora, though his azure gaze is trained on Langris, not their captain. The tension in his body is clear.

After all, Zora has never liked anyone of the higher castes. Finral remembers that.

“Because of Damnatio-san.” The words come from Noelle, who watches them from her own seat with such a profoundly sad gaze that it makes Finral’s wounded heart wobble. There is only so much he can bear to take tonight. “House Kira are sensitive about the way people talk about fae in their presence because almost all of House Kira loves Damnatio-san.”

Yami shakes his head slowly as he plods back to his armchair, plopping down in it so hard that Finral winces. He must be exhausted. They  _ all _ must be exhausted. “That’s putting it lightly, but yeah. And he’s in  _ exactly _ the right position to punish your parents.”

“Good.” Finral watches as Langris’s eyes flutter shut, the weight against his hands starting to increase just slightly. “Langris, wake back up. We’re almost done.”

Langris yawns but nods, his eyes opening just enough for Finral to see the minty blue of his irises once again. “Sorry, nii-san. I’ll be able to sleep once we get there, right?”

“Absolutely. You’ll have nothing to do but rest and recover.” And hopefully that will be enough, but Finral has no idea how the fae conduct healing. He has never seen it happen.

Vanessa finishes his pants quickly and sits back with a smile, giving Finral a nod, and he immediately sweeps his brother up against his chest to hold him again. “All done, you can hold him now. Such a good boy. Thank you for being so good, Langris.”

Langris barely manages a faint smile before he snuggles back into Finral’s arms, and Finral holds him as close and tight as he can with how fragile Langris’s body is. He can feel the bones in his body, the curve of his ribs, the sharp points of his elbows. And nothing that House Kira can do to his parents will be enough to fix what they have put Langris through, but Finral hopes that something heavy is on the table.

He lifts his head when Rill steps back into the room, his leg… Fine as far as Finral can tell, besides the torn edges of his pants. “There we go, all better. Sorry to keep you waiting. It’s about that time we pack your little brother up and head to the forest.”

“As long as he gets the help he needs, that’s all I care about.” Finral rises carefully, trying not to disturb Langris, pleased that he has finally settled down into soft, sleepy breathing.

Rill’s face softens slightly before he turns his head purposefully away from them, then back to where Charmy comes to stand behind him. “No worries, all right? Everything is going to be just fine. I’ll come back to tell all of you how it went.”

“Do you think they’d let me stay with Langris?” Finral asks, even though he knows what the likely answer is. Fae rarely like humans. Their presence in Clover is so, so small.

“That, I couldn’t say. If Langris wants you by his side and we can convince them that you aren’t the one responsible for everything that happened to him, we might just have a chance.” Rill waves for Finral to follow him and Finral does, throwing one last backwards glance at the Black Bulls. “I’ll do my best to reassure them that all you did was try to save your little brother from such needless suffering. In this condition… It’s very likely you saved his life, and I think they ought to value that in you.”

Finral hates that it came to this. He should have acted so much faster.

They take another dragon different than the one Rill painted the first time, but Finral makes no comment about that as he climbs up onto its back and balances Langris carefully in front of him. His brother sleeps through the entire flight and Finral is grateful for that, combing his fingers through soft chestnut hair and wishing he could do anything to make this all better. Something that would not involve leaving Langris in the care of strangers, strangers who might take him away and never let Finral see him again.

Langris is one of them, after all. Not human. They would be within their rights to try.

The fae forest is located in a Grand Magic Zone within the neutral territory separating Spade Kingdom from the other three kingdoms. Finral has only ever heard of it, given he was never asked to venture far enough out to see it for himself. While fae themselves almost feel like a myth despite their very real presence within Clover Kingdom, no one has ever doubted the existence of the forest itself or its strange, large trees.

Rill’s dragon touches down at the edge of Clover Kingdom where the forest is located. In the darkness, the trees are huge and daunting, thick trunks twisting up toward the sky and casting massive shadows on the ground around them. Finral stares up at them in wild disbelief for a moment, but he knew about this. Everyone knows about this.

A handful of figures step out from the shadows. Even in the darkness of the night, Finral can pick out the brightness of their wings, reflecting even the faintest of starlight.

Rill waves an arm to them excitedly, waiting for the fae to come to them. Three in number, two men and one woman, all as fair and beautiful as Finral expects them to be. The leader of the three looks to be the oldest, a man with windswept white hair and large golden wings with black veins running through them. The expression on his face is unpleasant.

“Raia, I’m glad you were able to meet us here.” Rill walks up to him, his hands moving in quick, sudden gestures along with his words. Finral wonders if he must be nervous. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, it was such a large building and I’d never been before.”

The fae named Raia looks over Rill’s shoulder, his eyes fixed on Finral and Langris. “Are you going to tell me why I sense another fae? You said it was a human child, Rill.”

“Well, as far as I knew at the time, he was.” Rill deflates slightly, then picks back up where he left off, all animated motions. “We didn’t know he was a fae child! I don’t think he knew, either. His parents were hiding it from him… But we saved him and brought him here.”

Raia’s eyes are the same brilliant gold as his wings, and they are as sharp as a blade when they meet Finral’s gaze. “Bring him here and let me look at him to be sure.”

“Of course.” Finral shifts Langris carefully in his arms and walks through the tall grass, the long blades brushing against his knees as he approaches the fae. Their mana is so powerful that he can almost taste it. “I’m sorry, he fell asleep on the journey.”

“No matter. If he needs sleep, he needs sleep.” Raia takes a step closer to them, his gaze searching Langris’s small face for several long minutes that feel like hours.

Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he takes a step back. But his mouth presses into a harsh, thin line that makes Finral’s stomach roil unpleasantly “So he does appear to be one of us. I must ask you then, human boy, what happened to his wings?”

“I— I don’t know.” Finral flinches under the hot pressure of Raia’s mana. “I’m sorry! I really don’t know. Ever since we were children growing up, Langris always looked like a little boy to me. If… If my parents did something to his wings, I don’t know that they did it.”

“He had no way of knowing. The boy was under a glamour spell. I felt it dissipating when I found him at the estate.” Rill touches Raia on the shoulder; the fae still looks furious.

Not that Finral can blame him for that. He would be, too. “I truly didn’t know about this.”

“It’s convenient for a human that you just so happened not to realize your brother was put under a glamour.” The voice comes from the woman, soft and subdued but laced with a hatred that makes Finral’s skin prickle with unease. Her wings are huge, the same sea green as her eyes, and they scatter dust as they flutter with distaste. “Give us the boy and be on your way. We should never have trusted humanity. You’re all the same.”

_ Be on your way. _ Finral swallows hard against the tightness in his throat and slowly shakes his head. The mana in the air thickens. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Langris asked me to stay with him, and I promised him I would. I won’t be breaking that promise now.”

“Fana,” Rill says softly, and the woman scowls at him, “Finral is all that Langris has. He loves him. You should know how much it means to a child when they have someone they cling to, right? So taking him away from Finral would just leave him all alone.”

Silence for a moment before Fana huffs at him, but her mana recedes slightly. “You’ve grown too fond of humans after falling in love with one, Rill. You should know better.”

_ Ouch. _ Finral winces slightly but says nothing, hugging Langris tighter to his chest in case one of the other two fae tries to take his brother away from him. “I want him to get better. You have no idea. But he said he wanted me to come with him. And I…”

And he feels so responsible for all of this. He can’t let Langris down now.

“You love your little brother even though he isn’t your brother?” The third fae asks. He walks closer than the other two have dared, his eyes such an inhuman shade of violet that they almost seem to glow in the darkness. A flutter of his wings sends vibrant dust to shower the ground beneath them. “You understand that, do you not? That boy in your arms is a fae child, not a human. You have no blood ties to him. Not like we do.”

Finral straightens up, taking a step back, half-turning in an effort to shield Langris from this fae. “I don’t care about that! Langris has always been my brother. So what if he’s a fae? He’s still  _ my _ brother. Nothing is going to change that unless he wants it to change.”

“Your devotion to him would end at his word?” The way the fae says the word  _ devotion _ makes Finral’s skin crawl, but he nods just the same. Because that much is true.

He looks down at the sleeping boy in his arms, the absolute angel that is his little brother, still breathing softly against his chest. “Yes. If Langris decided he didn’t want me to be his brother anymore… It would hurt, but I want him to be happy. That’s all I want.”

“How sweet.” The fae holds out his arms, and Finral’s stomach twists. “Give me the boy and be on your way now. We’ll heal him, and if he wants to see you, Rill can retrieve you.”

Again, Finral shakes his head. “No. That isn’t what Langris wants. He’s been through too much for me to leave him with strangers. He asked me to stay, and I want to stay.”

The fae’s pale brow twitches, and he tilts his head forward slightly. Golden hair tumbles into his eyes, obscuring his expression for a moment. “We’re strangers, yes, but the family who was meant to love him and cherish him did nothing but mistreat him. He’d be better off with us, as I am sure you must be aware given you brought him to us.”

“Finral isn’t his parents,” Rill protests, even as Raia puts a hand of warning on his shoulder, squeezing tightly from the way his fingers press into Rill’s shoulder. “He’s never hurt Langris ever. You could ask Langris that himself. His parents barely let Finral  _ see _ him.”

“Your investment in the lives of humans is dangerous,” Fana says, and Rill frowns at her.

“Letra, take the boy and let’s be on our way.” Raia gives Rill’s shoulder a pull, toward the forest. “And I think you need a reminder as to what trusting humans has cost us.”

The fae before him— Letra, Finral assumes— takes another step forward, and Finral takes a handful back. He brought Langris here to heal and he’s certain this place is the safest possible one for him, but the thought of letting these fae take him away… Finral can’t do that. He has no reason to fear them, but he has no reason to trust them with Langris without him being there to ensure nothing happens to his brother. He  _ knows _ better.

Letra scoffs at him. “Do you want him healed, or are you selfish after all?”

The question is like a blade to Finral’s heart, but he reminds himself of what Langris asked him. Of what Langris has  _ always _ wanted. For the two of them to be together. “I love him.”

Instead of advancing, the fae stops entirely, and the way he looks at Finral now is different, thoughtful. He nor the others get a chance to step any closer before another figure emerges from the trees, this one lacking any wings at all. Finral blinks in shock at first at the sight of the slight human shape that comes to join them, all four fae turning toward him immediately. His mana, Finral notes, is not less impressive than theirs.

The human walks all the way to where Finral stands, into the sharp relief of the moonlight. It highlights his face, the soft white tuft of his fair and the  _ vicious _ scarring that frames his lavender eyes. Eyes that are far more kind than those of the fae here tonight.

“I apologize for their behavior. I was listening behind the treeline.” The human man smiles gently at him, then glances down to where Langris is curled, one small hand resting over Finral’s heart. “This is your little brother? He’s a beauty. Can you wake him up for me?”

Finral nods slowly, leaning down to murmur against his brother’s ear. “Langris? Wake up.”

It takes a little coaxing but Langris opens his eyes slowly, yawning softly as he looks around before up at Finral. So trusting it hurts. “Nii-san, where are we?”

“What a beautiful boy indeed,” the human man says, and Langris glances up at him, his eyes widening slightly. “Are you Langris Vaude? Rill told me quite a lot about you. I wanted to ask you a question before I take you into our forest and heal you.”

_ Heal? _ This is the healer Rill has been speaking of? Finral stares at him in shock, because he never expected the healer to be a human man. When Rill spoke of a healer who could nearly bring life back to the dead, Finral assumed he meant another powerful fae. But again, Finral notes that this man’s mana is quite… Noticeably strong, more so than a human’s should be. Comparable to the four fae in the clearing with them.

“Okay.” Langris looks up at Finral, questioning, and Finral smiles down at him.

“This is your brother, Finral Roulacase, yes?” At Langris’s quick nod, the human smiles softly. It is so unbearably gentle as an expression that Finral’s heart stutters just a little. “Would you like him to come with us into the forest? To stay at your side?”

Immediately, Langris nods, the hand on Finral’s chest twisting in his shirt. He can barely manage a proper grip, too weak to do much more. “No one can take Finral away from me.”

“I don’t think it’s wise to take a strange human into the forest. We did not ask Licht about that,” Raia protests, but the human only frowns back at him. “William, this is not safe. A mage with his type of spatial magic could bring anyone to the forest that he wanted.”

“And his spatial magic will not allow him to cross into the forest with ease, which you know.” The man— William— shakes his head as he turns back to them. “Again, I apologize.”

Fana shakes her head. “I can’t abide this. Humans aren’t trustworthy. You know this.”

The tone of her voice suggests things that Finral does not want to think about right now, but it does make Langris whine, his grip on Finral’s shirt tightening. He shifts in Finral’s arms, wrapping one small arm around Finral’s neck. So weak that his grip is shaky. “You can’t take me away from nii-san. Please, I… I want him to come. I love him.”

His voice, weak and trembling with fatigue, makes Finral’s heart ache. “I love you, too.”

“Are you certain he was never involved in what your parents did to you?” Letra demands, and Langris flinches away from him with a whine, clinging to Finral tighter.

_ Enough. _ “If you want to say rude things to me, then so be it,” Finral snaps. The fae’s head jerks up, gaze curious as it regards him. “But don’t you  _ dare _ turn that venom on my brother, not for one moment. He needs help, not to have you speak rudely to him.”

Langris’s breath hitches, and Finral watches as his eyes glimmer with unshed tears. “D-don’t go,” he says, looking up at Finral, only at Finral. “You promised m-me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Finral says, and he means it. He’s staying right here.

William brings his hands together, the loud  _ clap _ snapping the tension. “That does it, then. Finral Roulacase will come with us into the forest, and if Licht has anything to say about it, please send him to me so we can discuss it. I’m sure he’ll agree with my point of view.”

Raia groans and tips his head back. “You’re going to get all of us in trouble, William.”

“I doubt it.” William smiles up at Finral, and Finral feels sweet relief coil through his veins as he presses soft kisses to Langris’s hair to soothe him. “He always treated me like a son. Now, come on, you two. Let’s go to my Yggdrasil tree and get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bby langris is finally going to get some help


	12. Chapter 12

Langris wakes to the scent of ginger and honey tickling his nose.

The weight of blankets piled up on his body is familiar enough to make his stomach churn with nerves, a faint memory of the last few days spent in his bed. But the scent of the room is all wrong, and he feels truly  _ warm _ for the first time since his last attack. Aside from that, he was in bed alone the entire time. Now, he can feel arms wound tight around him, holding him close enough that he feels safe for the first time in weeks.

The scent of ozone also reaches him over the sweetness and he blinks awake slowly, lashes feathered over his eyes to keep the light out. Just in case, but as it turns out, the interior of the room he is in is pleasantly dark. Shadowy, as if the light has been suffused.

He yawns, his lips brushing against soft fabric that has him leaning back to look up at his brother’s sleeping face.  _ Finral! _ The sight of him is enough to make Langris’s heart beat a little faster, because that means… That means everything was not a dream after all.

And that means he is finally free from what his parents were doing to him.

Finral sighs softly in his sleep, his arms flexing as if to draw Langris closer against his chest, and Langris goes happily. He wraps his arms around his brother’s neck, snuggling into the warm chest he’s fallen asleep against so many times. Having Finral this close, this warm and safe and familiar, is a balm for his soul that Langris has needed for so long.

Now that he and Finral are together again, no one is going to separate them.

He would have been content to simply lie here and track the sound of the beat of his brother’s heart, but the sound of a door opening makes him jump. Carefully, Langris peeks over his shoulder, not wanting to draw the attention of anyone unsavory who might have ill intentions for them. Instead, he only sees a slender man enter the room, humming softly to himself as he goes about his business on the other side of the room. He looks familiar.

Vaguely, Langris recalls someone who asked him if he wanted Finral to remain with him, as if that idiotic question even needed an answer. But the hair looks similar even from the back, and he senses nothing off about the man. Not that he can remember his name.

The scent of ginger and honey grows stronger, perfuming the room in its sweetness, and Langris’s stomach gives a familiar growl at the scent of it. It had been days since his last meal but now his stomach feels settled enough to actually  _ want  _ something.

Lavender eyes meet his own over a slim shoulder, far paler in color than his brother’s but no less vibrant. “Is my little patient finally awake? I’m so relieved to see that.”

“Patient?” Carefully, Langris sits up, not wanting to shrug off Finral’s arms at all. They slip down around his waist and Finral tucks his face against Langris’s hip, as if letting him go is not an option. “Are you the healer? Nii-san said there was a fae healer who would…”

He trails off when he realizes the man is nothing but a human. How can that be right?

“I heal the fae, but if you were expecting someone with big resplendent wings, you’ll have to save that for another day.” The man smiles briefly and turns, bracing his hips against the desk behind him as he regards Langris with a curious gaze that makes him want to squirm back under the blankets. He only vaguely remembers the way his face looked in Rill’s mirror, and he probably looks a mess from sleep. “You’re looking better. Getting your color back, fever down. I had you tangled up in my flowers for so long.”

“Tangled up in flowers? What do you mean?” Langris has no memories of flowers, or really… Anything beyond falling asleep in Finral’s arms once again, secure in the knowledge his brother would not be leaving his side. That the two of them could stay together.

William chuckles softly and lifts a hand, palm up, his skin glowing green with mana before vines spill between his fingers, coiling around his forearm. A dark bulb blooms in his palm, the leaves spreading slowly to reveal a delicate white flower like nothing Langris has ever seen before. Surely not something that can exist outside of the fae forest.

“My flowers,” William says, walking closer to the bed so Langris can examine the bloom more closely. The petals are lush and silken, damp with dew drops. “These are the vehicles through which I heal. The vines will coil around whatever I touch when I direct my mana, in this case myself, and the flowers gather mana in the air around us and channel that into healing energy to repair the damage done internally and externally. Very handy things.”

“Did you create them?” Langris carefully brushes a finger along one white petal, yanking his hand back when the petal wilts, curling in on itself, thin and flaky. “I’m sorry!”

But William only shakes his head, and Langris watches in disbelief as the entire flower withers and dies, the vines slipping from William’s arm, dried and frail. “There is no need to apologize, little one. They reach the end of their lifespan when my patients are fully healed, when there is no damage left to repair. That is how they are meant to die.”

“That’s such a useful spell. You have healing plant magic?” Langris knows of one other person off the top of his head that has similar magic, a young woman in the Golden Dawn, but her name escapes him. “That’s amazing. I wish I could do that.”

Softly, William laughs, shaking his head as he gathers the dead plant up in his hands and takes it back to the desk. “No, little one, I don’t have healing plant magic. These flowers are simply one very small part of my natural affinity for plants. My magic is different.”

Langris watches his back at the desk for a moment, and when William turns around once again, he has a steaming mug cupped carefully in his hands. It looks like it isn’t made of porcelain or really any material Langris is used to seeing, not glass either. Carved from wood, dark and beautiful swirls and spirals gracing its sides.

“If you can drink all of this tea, then I’ll start giving you small things to eat.” William sits on the edge of the bed, offering the cup to Langris, and he eagerly takes it. The ginger and honey scent swirls off of the top, and his stomach growls again. “Luckily, a good deal of your weight loss was your body cannibalizing muscle, so I’ve healed some of that.”

Confused, Langris glances down at himself, pressing a careful hand to his ribs, his stomach, and he feels… Less skinny than he did when Finral saved him. “Nii-san must be so relieved.”

“He is. He stayed with you the entire time, kept asking me so many questions. Always right there, until the flowers even grew over him because he wanted to be next to you.” William’s eyes soften considerably as he glances at Finral, whose arms are still in place, his breaths puffing warm and easy against Langris’s thigh.

Langris glances up at William warily as he brings the tea to his lips, the liquid warm enough to soothe the dryness in his throat but not too hot to drink. “Was he also hurt?”

To his relief, William shakes his head, his expression pleased as Langris sips the tea periodically. His stomach wants more than this, but at least it no longer aches and rolls and churns like it was, and he no longer wants to vomit at the scent of anything edible. Rather, the ginger and honey is just as delicious as it should be, somehow even better than the tea Langris has had growing up. Fuller in taste, sweeter, more vibrant.

“I believe his concern simply wore on his body, as is natural of anyone who loves so deeply.” William beams at him, and Langris nods, feeling the familiar stab of guilt in his stomach. The memory of his brother’s hissing, cold voice whispering  _ burden. _ “But I’d prefer someone who worried themself a little sick than someone who could regard a dying child with pure dispassion. How is the tea? I brewed it before I stepped out to speak to Licht.”

“It’s better than any tea I’ve ever had before. Is it because it’s from here?” When William nods, Langris takes another sip of tea. That makes sense to him, if nothing else does.

Finral’s arms tighten slightly around his waist, his face nuzzling into Langris’s hip further as a pleased sigh leaves his lips. Maybe his big brother is having sweet dreams, which is the most Langris can wish for him after how much he must have worried and fretted.

William clears his throat. “If you have questions to ask, Langris, you may ask them.”

Langris finishes the cup of tea and hands it back to William, and another is brought to him just a moment later. It warms his stomach, settling the gnawing sensation in his gut that comes from hunger, so he accepts it. “How can I be a fae? I don’t remember being one.”

“One of the fae would have left you as a tiny little baby in the place of whoever came before you. The human Vaude boy, as it were, but.” William shrugs a shoulder, and Langris cocks his head up at him. “Usually I find myself saddled with sick infants to nurse back to health, but that would have been over a decade ago. I hardly remember each one.”

“Is he still here, then? Finral’s real little brother?” The words taste like acid on his tongue, but Langris spits them out just the same. He knows his place here.

The troubled expression on William’s face makes him duck his head slightly. “I know you might not  _ feel _ like you can be Finral’s brother now that you know what you know, but he carried you here in his arms and refused to leave your side because he promised you he would stay with you. He insisted that he is your brother, and you are his.”

Langris drops his head, staring down at his lap, picking at the soft fabric of the blanket stretched over them. Something about it feels less… Carefully constructed than the ones back home, but it’s warmer than those as well. “I know. I just… I don’t know how to feel.”

“Do you love your brother?” When Langris nods, William cups his chin, tilting his head back up so that Langris meets his kind gaze once again. “Then he is your brother. And you are his. Blood relation matters little to most beings, I’ve found, whether human or fae. Feel safe with the knowledge that Finral stood against my kind fearlessly to stay with you.”

Finral did that for him? Langris’s stomach buzzes warm and uncertain, and he presses his lips together as he brings the fresh tea to his mouth. A swallow, and then he asks the questions he knows are going to hurt him. “What did my parents do to me?”

“Ah, now that, I expected. I only know what I was told, but I know enough.” William turns to him, and his hand is gentle as he cups Langris’s cheek. His thumb traces under Langris’s eye, and Langris thinks that must be where his fae marking is. “You were placed under a glamour spell. It’s a particular type of magic that works something akin to any other magic circle. You can keep it active as long as you pour enough mana in to keep it active.”

“Why would they do that? Did they not want me to be a fae?” But Langris already knows the answer to such a question.  _ Why can’t you just be normal? _ And Father’s tense, certain warnings about the fae. He already knows his parents would never want that.

William shrugs a shoulder at him, his hand gentle as he pets Langris’s face like one might soothe a frightened animal. “I can’t say. Likely there will be a trial conducted to discover the answer to such questions. All I can say is that the glamour spell would have concealed your features. They take time to grow in, you see. Your ears, your markings, your…”

He trails off, but Langris knows what he is unwilling to say. “My wings.”

“I found the scars on your back when I was conducting my original examination. Very cleanly done, very purposefully. They removed them, likely when they were very small.” William’s face betrays anguish for just a moment before he carefully tucks it away, but Langris only shakes his head. He never remembers having wings, so not having them is no great loss to him. Maybe in time he might start to miss them, but right now? He feels nothing akin to loss. Only pain and confusion that his parents would do this to him.

“I remember… Pins in my hair, but I don’t remember anything else. Or why.” He has so few memories of the night he was rescued, barely able to piece all of the dark puzzle together.

William shudders slightly, his hand stealing up to touch Langris’s hair, brushing through his locks and ruffling them. “You had welts on your poor little head from the hair pins. Rill told me about them. They were made of iron, and fae are allergic to iron.”

“They were trying to hurt me on purpose.” Langris presses his lips together, turning his eyes down to his mug again, to the comforting tea. His parents were trying to hurt him.

“More than that,” William says, and Langris blinks up at him in shock. “Given time, those alone would have finished the job. The iron being so close would have been enough to poison you, and I suspect they were a last result. You had severe internal damage as well.”

“From not eating? I couldn’t keep anything down.” But even as Langris offers the explanation, he knows William is going to tell him there is something more.

When William slowly shakes his head, Langris deflates. “It would be hard for me to prove it without seeing the kitchen in which your meals were cooked, but… Iron can enter your system through food. If you were eating food cooked in iron pans, then…”

His parents were trying to poison him. No wonder the last two attacks had been so violent, so visceral, so painful. No wonder even the smell of food became enough to make him ill, make it hard to keep anything down. And the pain in his stomach, it all adds up, but Langris can only squeeze his eyes shut in a vain effort to keep the tears back. They wanted to kill him. They weren’t just feeding him food that his stomach naturally didn’t want.

“Fae don’t eat meat,” William says, and Langris nods mutely as he takes another drink of tea before it can cool too much. “Even Patolli’s stomach turns at the smell of it. When Finral told me they had been forcing it down you, I knew they were doing it on purpose.”

Neither of them ever had his best interests at heart after all, then.

“As you grew older and your mana properly formed, you began to dissolve the glamour spell yourself.” William touches his face again, and Langris leans into the warmth to ground himself before he collapses. “That was the only part that puzzled me, but Licht is very wise and explained it to me. They could have kept you hidden if they had only told you and allowed you to control the glamour yourself. Instead, your mana worked against it.”

Despite their best efforts to contain him, to sicken him, to  _ kill _ him, all Mother and Father succeeded in doing was triggering Langris’s own body to protect itself. No wonder they sent Finral away after the first attack. They couldn’t have him finding out the truth.

Because he would have said something if he knew, that much Langris is certain about. Finral would have done anything in the world to bring him back to the fae to heal.

Langris drains his tea a second time and passes the cup back to William. “Can I have something to eat now? I didn’t get to eat for days because I was so sick. I’m hungry.”

“Of course, little one.” William returns the mug to the desk, and Langris watches him fidget with someone just out of sight before he returns to the bed once more. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, but the tea helps settle your stomach, and it’s much easier to eat this way. Why don’t we try some flowers, something a little less heavy on your belly?”

_ Flowers. _ The thought alone makes Langris’s stomach rumble, and he nods as he looks down at the carved wooden bowl of blossoms that William offers him. The small delicate flowers look appetizing, small enough to eat in just one bite, their tiny petals gracefully curved away from the dark, lush centers. And the colors, rich and vibrant and tempting him to bite to see how sweet they are. One bowl will hardly be enough, Langris thinks.

William sets the bowl down on Langris’s lap, smiling softly when Langris immediately picks up a bright red flower and sets it on his tongue. “Try not to eat them too quickly, and only one at a time. If you eat too fast, you’ll just end up throwing them up again.”

Right. Langris nods as he bites down carefully, eyes fluttering shut at the rich, savory flavor that bursts across his tongue. Not as sweet as he thought it would be but this is better somehow, more what his stomach seems to need. And it is something he has desperately wanted for ages now, something his parents had so often denied him.

William is watching him when Langris looks up again, the pleasure in his eyes difficult to ignore or look past. “I’m glad to see you eating, I truly am. You were so frail when I first examined you. I was worried I’d lose you before I even started to work.”

His condition must have been bad, then. Langris only has a hazy memory not only of his rescue night, but the days preceding it now that he thinks about it. He remembers the discomfort, the pain, the gnawing hunter in his gut and the way none of it abated. How cold he felt, how all he wanted was for Finral to come save him, and how Finral did just that after all. Of course he did. Finral would never leave him behind, and now that Langris is sure of that, it makes the shadowy version of his brother nothing more than a phantom.

He clears his throat, looking up at William as he picks up another flower. “I saw something weird before… Before I got saved, I think. It looked and sounded like my brother, but I don’t think it was him. Because Finral didn’t come into the house, he was outside it.”

“You saw something?” William’s brows draw together slightly, and he tilts his head to the side, as if considering. “Did it do anything to you? Say anything to you?”

Admitting it feels wrong, like Langris should keep it hidden away to himself or something, but instead he nods, unease creeping into his gut once again. “Mean things. Like… Mean things I thought about myself, but Finral would never say those things to me.”

“I think we can chalk that up to a hallucination, then. Especially when you were so feverish. Did you know fever can cause hallucinations?” When Langris slowly shakes his head, William sighs softly, and the sound is heavy. The weight on his shoulders as a healer must be so great, so he likely saw so much here. “It’s not necessarily the most common symptom in the world, but it can happen. And you likely saw what you needed to see the most… And heard what you didn’t need to hear. I hope you know your brother loves you very much.”

Langris looks down at where Finral is still sleeping, his embrace as warm and solid as ever, his expression peaceful. “I know he does. I believe that. And I love him, too.”

“Very good. I won’t tire you out with any more conversation. Do you want more tea to wash the flowers down?” William busies himself with a third cup when Langris nods. “Just set the bowl aside when you’re done. I’ll let you have some more rest if you want it.”

A warm, filling meal and more sleep sounds like exactly what Langris needs.

He finishes his flowers and tea after William leaves the room, only Langris realizes this is a small hut and not a room in and of itself. The door he slips through opens up into what is either evening or early morning, difficult to tell without a better look at the sky, but Langris is content right where he is and has no desire to go looking for answers.

The hut itself is small inside, but cozy and warm as if whoever built it was solely thinking of making a comforting space for the patients someone like William might see. There is what appears to be a small window on the adjacent wall, but gauzy curtains have been pulled over it to block out the light. Langris notes the faint bluish tint to the grey wood that comprises the walls, ceiling, and floor with interest, wondering what might have caused that. He’s never seen wood of this color before, and yet here it is.

His favorite part of the hut is the light source, something he never expected to see even in a place like this. Either placed strategically along the walls or simply cropping up from the wood itself are at least a hundred little mushrooms, maybe more, offering a soft ambient glow in dozens of colors. Shades of red, gold, green, blue, and purple surround them, just bright enough to see by without being even slightly blinding.

Langris loves them. He makes a note to ask William about them the next time he sees the healer, though it might not be for a while. Best to get some more sleep first.

Wiggling back down into Finral’s embrace is more difficult than it has any right to be, and the way his brother sighs in his sleep makes Langris’s belly feel warm. He remembers what the hallucination of his brother said to him, about his  _ feelings _ for Finral, and how it didn’t make sense to him at the time. Confused and scared of this phantom that mimicked his brother’s voice so well that he could hardly think around the concept.

In his effort to lie back down, Langris disturbs his brother enough for Finral to nod, violet eyes fluttering open slowly as he peers up at Langris. “Mm, what are you doing, baby?”

The pet name makes Langris’s stomach flutter softly, a soft heat blooming in his cheeks as Finral smiles sleepily up at him. “I was trying to lie back down. I just finished eating.”

“You were eating something? I’m so glad to hear that.” Finral yawns again, rubbing at his eyes— And then freezes, abruptly sitting up so fast that Langris has to grab his shirt to keep from being thrown off the bed. “Langris! I wasn’t even paying attention, I was still half asleep, but look at you. You’re awake, oh thank the heavens. I was so worried about you, you slept so long. Are you feeling all right? Did you get enough sleep?”

Langris squeaks as Finral yanks him up into his lap, against his chest, hands rubbing up and down his back as Finral nuzzles down into his hair. “Calm down, nii-san! I’m fine. I’ve been awake. I was talking to the healer, William? And he gave me tea and food.”

“That’s good to hear. William is so kind, I’m so glad he was the one who was taking care of you. He cared so much.” Finral kisses the top of his head, then leans back to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, until the heat in Langris’s face quickly ramps up into an inferno that has him squirming. “How are you feeling? You look so much better.”

“Can you calm down and stop squeezing me so tightly? It kind of hurts.” And that is enough to get Finral to loosen up on him, letting Langris curl comfortably in his arms.

Finral looks down at him, his eyes wet with unshed tears, his face clouded with so many emotions that Langris has no idea how to pick them all apart. “I’m so sorry for everything, little brother. That I didn’t do something faster. That I let them  _ mutilate _ you.”

“You didn’t know. And I don’t blame you for anything, not when you saved me.” Langris reaches up to touch his face, feeling the familiar softness of Finral’s cheek under his hand. “Please don’t cry. I don’t want any more crying. I want us to be happy now.”

A few harsh blinks manage to clear Finral’s eyes, though his voice still sounds rough when he leans down to kiss Langris on the cheek. “You’re such a sweet little boy, Langris.”

Langris’s belly clenches at the words, and a soft, unfurling warmth in his chest makes him giggle even though Finral hasn’t said anything funny. “I’m just happy to be with you again, like we said we’d be one day. And we didn’t even have to wait for me to get my grimoire or join our Magic Knight squad. I don’t ever have to go back here again, do I?”

“No.” Finral shakes his head and gathers Langris tighter against his chest, rubbing his back again as if trying to soothe him. “Ledior and Liliane are currently in custody right now.”

_ Custody. _ Langris suffered so much, it’s almost hard to believe their parents would ever face any kind of justice for what they did to him. “What happens to me now, then?”

“There will be a trial when you’re healthy enough to leave the forest, and not a moment before then. And then they’ll be sentenced accordingly.” Finral’s lips touch his forehead again; Langris remembers teasing him a little about how much Finral was kissing him. Now he hopes he never stops, hands fisting in his shirt to keep him close. “But I don’t want you to worry about getting better just to do that. Take your time and recover well.”

“Are you going to be here with me the whole time?” The thought of Finral leaving him is absurdly frightening right now, when Langris feels so vulnerable, so uncertain of the future. He wants Finral to stay with him, as selfish as it is to take him from his duties.

But Finral nods, and Langris cannot hold back the way his face splits into a smile at the thought. Days of just being with nii-san, with the brother who risked so much for him. “I already sent word back to Captain Yami and he told me to take what time I needed to be with you while you got better. I told you the Bulls were good people, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Langris leans up to kiss him on the cheek in return, and Finral smiles down at him, his eyes so warm that it makes Langris squirm in his lap just a little. “I’m glad you can stay. I want to spend lots of time with you now. To make up for missing it all.”

Finral nods and tilts his face up, and Langris just… Looks at him. At the long sweep of his dark lashes, the deep amethyst of his eyes, the gentle quirk of his full lips spreading into a familiar, fond smile that makes Langris feel small and shy under his gaze. Finral is handsome, Langris has always known this. Even as a child, he remembers girls always liking Finral, always talking to him, talking about how kind and caring he was, how sweet.

But looking up at him now is… Different. Framed by the glowing colors around him, looking so utterly relaxed and rested and  _ happy,  _ Finral is beautiful. Langris can see that now.

His chest hitches with the realization, too much all at once and he wants to hide away somewhere, suddenly shy at what he has recognized. His  _ feelings _ for Finral. His desire to be more than just a brother, more than just a squad mate. He understands it now, better.

He might never have, if that hissing phantom did not frighten him so severely, but…

“Are you tired, still?” Finral touches his face, slides his fingers up into Langris’s hair, thumb brushing against the hollow of Langris’s temple. “We can lay back down and I’ll watch over you as you sleep. How does that sound? Or are you ready to get up?”

Langris shakes his head, curling himself against his brother’s chest just so he can avoid how lovely his brother looks right now, and the weight of his own feelings. “I’m still tired, nii-san, I want to rest a bit more. And then maybe we can get up.”

When he’s had some time to think about this, and what it might mean for the two of them.

Finral nods and lets Langris slide back down into bed, then smiles down at him and twists to reach for something on his side of the bed. “Now that you’re awake, I can give you this properly. I would have just tucked it into your arms, but you were already sound asleep.”

His cat. Langris’s eyes widen in disbelief as Finral tucks the small plush into his arms, and he hugs her against his chest tightly, kissing her soft little head. “How did you—?”

“I didn’t. Nacht did. My vice captain. I suppose I must have mentioned getting you a cat, because he brought it to the edge of the forest when he came to see me. When I told him I was staying here for a while.” Finral strokes his hair, and Langris snuggles down into the toy’s soft, familiar fur. “Now let’s have a nice, sound sleep. You deserve it.”

“So do you,” Langris says, and Finral only smiles down at him without any argument.

As soon as he settles into a comfortable position, Finral is there to curl around him, brushing his fingers through Langris’s hair to give his forehead a goodnight kiss. His kisses are so warm, and his lips so soft, and Langris wonders what it might feel like if those lips touched his own. If he might enjoy that, if Finral would even  _ want _ that.

“I love you so much,” Finral whispers. “Sweet dreams, and let me know if you need me.”

_ I always need you, _ Langris thinks. But he nuzzles into Finral’s chest instead, into the warm embrace of his brother’s arms tight around him. Anchoring him, keeping him safe, offering protection only Finral can. “I love you, too, nii-san. Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally the baby gets so much-needed TLC


	13. Chapter 13

For the first few days after Langris wakes up, they stay inside so he can recover.

Their primary visitor is William, who comes to check on Langris a few times a day and decide if he can handle larger and more solid foods. Rapport with him is easy and natural, and Finral bites his tongue as he yet again wonders what happened with William and his family that he seems entirely content here in the forest and has no desire to see his parents. It must have been bad. Ever since waking up, Langris has not spoken a word about Ledior or Liliane, people Finral can no longer think of as his parents.

Monsters is what they are. Unrepentant, child-murdering  _ monsters. _

Langris seems content to stay inside, getting up every so often to stretch his legs and inspect the mushrooms on the wall, or peer out the small window at the fae who flutter by. Some of them call out to him, and he waves; Finral’s breath catches every time at the sight of his brother’s curious and bemused smile, like he can’t believe they know his name.

But of course they do. Langris is one of them, after all, and he always will be.

Today, though, William does not come to visit them alone. He steps into the house with the usual grace and poise that Finral expects of him, but another figure slips in behind him, a hand pressed into the curve of his waist. Hair such a pale shade that it almost looks like captured light tumbles down to slender shoulders, framing an angular and pretty face that Finral does not recognize. Large topaz eyes meet Finral’s immediately, and he freezes.

He still remembers the conversation with Raia, Letra, and Fana, and he is wary still.

“Sorry to keep you waiting this morning,” William says, as if the fae behind him is not present at all. The fae’s large, glimmering wings cast a soft glow of their own into the room, the light of the mushrooms shimmering across their surface. “This is Patolli, he wanted to come meet the two of you. He’s the fae who brought me here as a child.”

The words have Finral cocking his head slightly, curiosity burning at the back of his mind though he knows to keep most of his thoughts to himself. “Nice to meet you, Patolli.”

“Hi,” Langris chirps from beside him, huddled against his side this morning, arms folded neatly around his cat plush. “I didn’t know a fae was coming to visit us.”

Patolli’s eyes linger on Finral’s face for such a long moment that it feels agonizing before dropping to Langris, and only then does a small smile touch his full, pale lips. “I came to see you, little one, to see how you were recovering. How are you feeling this morning?”

“Sleepy. I don’t like early mornings.” Langris presses his cheek against Finral’s side, and Finral combs his fingers through his brother’s soft, flyaway hair. “How are you?”

“I’m just fine.” Patolli chuckles faintly, and Finral allows the tension to ease just slightly.

He knows he should be grateful to the fae for taking his brother in and caring for him like this, especially when William seems so beloved to all of them. But he can never shake the conversation he had before entering the forest, the way they wanted to take Langris from his arms and leave him out in the cold to wait. That kind of thing is hard to forgive, especially when his brother almost wept for him to stay near. At least William honored Langris’s wishes, though Finral doubts he can trust the other fae nearly as much.

Even if Langris is one of them, he’s been Finral’s brother since the day of his birth.

“You’re looking even better this morning. A slow process, but a pleasing one.” William walks over to the bed to feel Langris’s forehead, has him lift his shirt so William can chart his slow but steady weight gain. “I’m glad to see that. You really are starting to recover.”

Langris beams up at him, and Finral strokes a hand through his brother’s hair once again, laughing when Langris presses his head up into the touch. “You really are like a kitten.”

The way his brother flushes and squirms at the words makes Finral’s stomach flip just enough for him to feel it, but he smothers the reaction down and kisses his brother on the head. None of that. He should be grateful he will get to keep Langris in his life, not thinking about… Any of the horrible things he has been, especially after that damned dream. All that matters is Langris safe and sound and finally recovering.

“I think fruit would be fine for today, then. I’ll bring you something nourishing.” William pats Langris on the cheek, and the boy beams up at him. “If you want, you can head outside today and explore a little bit. You might have trouble getting down the ladder outside because of muscle weakness, but I’m sure your brother will look after you.”

“Definitely,” Finral promises, rubbing a hand up his brother’s small back. “I’ll carry him down, it’ll be fine. And then we can look all around the forest, won’t that be nice?”

Langris nods shyly; Finral knows it will be a lot for him to process, all the beautiful fae with their gorgeous glittery wings, but he should get to know him. These are the people who accepted him without a second thought, who wanted him, who were willing to pry him out of Finral’s arms and secret him away to the shadows to protect him. This is the one place where Langris has nothing to fear, even if he doesn’t know that yet.

Patolli clears his throat, and Finral glances up at him uneasily. “If you need any accompaniment to show you around, I’d be glad to do that. I’m not occupied today.”

“That’s why he’s trailing me like a shadow instead of off handling his own work.” William rolls his eyes, but the playful smile on his lips shows he hardly means such a thing.

“Far be it from me to want to spend time with you.” Patolli chuckles faintly, crossing the room in slow, graceful steps to the window to peer out into the forest, at the sunlight barely filtering through the canopy of leaves above. “This tree has a splendid view.”

“She is my favorite,” William says, and Finral cocks his head. William has never mentioned anything about the tree, but now that he thinks back to it… Had William given her a name?

“Why?” Langris asks, and William pats him on the cheek again before standing.

“Yggdrasil is the culmination of the healing aspect of my magic combined into one behemoth tree. If you could skim the top of the forest, you’d see she’s the second tallest we have.” William presses a hand against the wall of the room, and Finral swears that for just a moment, he thinks he  _ feels _ the tree respond to the touch. “I have at least a dozen of these rooms poised in her branches, you know. She feeds off of the sickness and pain and anguish of my patients, and in return she grants them respite and rest.”

Patolli turns back to look at him, and Finral can see the aching fondness in his eyes, the way his lips are quick to quirk into a smile as he regards the human he must clearly see as belonging to him. “You did a wonderful job with her. I remember when she was a sapling.”

“World Tree magic is my affinity,” William says, and Langris makes a sound of understanding that tells Finral they must have talked about this before. “She’s only one of my trees in this forest, but she’s also one of the most important.”

“She’s saved countless lives, not just healed people,” Patolli says, and William’s smile turns small, turns shy as he looks at the fae, his cheeks picking up just a hint of color.

Finral watches as William slowly rises to his feet, as Patolli holds out a hand to him, all long elegant fingers because apparently  _ every _ fae has to be inhumanly beautiful. But it is enough to coax William to his side, to take his hand, drawing the man up against his chest. Patolli only drops the hold so he can press his hand into the small of William’s back instead, and for just a moment, the two of them look at each other. And Finral can feel the entire world around them dissolve into nothingness as they gaze into each other’s eyes.

“Oh,” Langris murmurs next to him, hugging his cat even tighter. “They love each other.”

“I think so,” Finral agrees, watching as Patolli murmurs… Something, voice so low that even in the small space, Finral cannot catch it. But he does see the way William’s cheeks flush a deeper softer pink, the way he giggles and tilts his head down just a little.

_ Adorable. _ Finral feels like his heart is going to give out watching the two of them.

Then Patolli whispers something else and William looks up at him, and their lips meet for a breathless, endless moment in which Finral’s heart  _ does _ give out. And he vainly ignores the ache of longing in his chest, how much he wants exactly that. The sweetness of the moment, the tenderness, the ease of loving someone, of speaking softly and sharing kisses, but… The person he wants that with would never want it in return.

And Finral is disgusting for even wanting it, probably. It feels like such a part of him now, tucked away under everything else, and he wishes he could make it all go away.

Next to him, Langris hides his face behind his cat, but his eyes are fixed on the two of them, and Finral wonders if he knows he can have that. He spent so much time trying to please their parents and do as they asked even as they tortured him and tried to kill him, maybe he doesn’t know that someone can love him like that. That someone out there is going to hold him just the same way Patolli holds William, kiss him like that.

_ I wish it was me, _ Finral thinks, and he hates,  _ hates _ himself for thinking it.

William leans back first, tucking his face against Patolli’s shoulder, and the fae embraces him, wings folding around just a bit, as if embracing the man with those, too. “Apologies to the two of you if you mind such sappiness. I’ve been too busy to spend time with William.”

“That hasn’t been my fault, has it?” Finral asks, relieved when Patolli shakes his head.

“Not at all. I’d rather be busy ensuring the safety of the fae than watching them suffer.” Patolli runs his fingers along William’s spine, and William shivers in his embrace, pressing closer to him like they might meld into one being. “What prince would I be otherwise?”

_ Prince? _ “I’m sorry?” Finral asks while Langris gasps and peeks up at him more closely.

“My father is the king of the fae, Licht. I’m sure you’ve only heard his name in passing.” When Finral and Langris both nod, Patolli chuckles softly and presses his cheek to William’s soft white hair. “That’s what I thought. He’s been meeting with Damnatio and, ah… Marx, I do believe? Periodically about the Vaudes. But it’s mostly been my job to ensure the fae in the forest feel secure and to strengthen our alliances with Heart.”

“You have alliances with Heart Kingdom?” This is the first Finral has ever heard of such a thing, but it isn’t as though anyone in Clover would concern themselves with such a thing.

“We always have. Heart and Spade are the only two kingdoms that have never had issue with us, though it isn’t like many fae can live in Spade. Just one.” Patolli sways slightly from side to side, his hand continuing its slow, easy trip up and down William’s spine. “Have you heard of the Zogratis siblings, Langris? They’re high-ranking Spade Kingdom nobles.”

Langris shakes his head, but Finral nods slightly; he remembers Yami off-handedly mentioning them once or twice, strong mages who came from Spade. None of the three of them have ever stepped foot from Spade’s wintry landscape, at least not as far as Finral is aware. He’s never seen a Spade mage in any of the dungeons they run either, mostly Diamond, so they must keep to themselves. Preferable, if all of them are so strong.

“You know of them?” Patolli’s eyes slide to him, and Finral tries not to wince.

“My captain spoke of them,” he says, “but never mentioned a fae being among them. I’m guessing that’s not something that just everyone is aware of? Or—”

Patolli laughs, and the sound is rich and vibrant enough that Finral relaxes against the pillows. Maybe he is just a touch paranoid. “No, no, it is definitely common knowledge because the boy has lived with them since they were still children. I suppose  _ they _ just aren’t common knowledge to Clover. Their little brother, Zenon, is one of us.”

“He’s lived with them ever since he was a baby?” Langris asks, and when Patolli nods, the boy’s face visibly brightens. As if the prospect of that is reassuring to him.

What is Finral thinking? Of  _ course _ it is. He knows very well that Langris was struggling with the prospect of them not being related by blood because William told him as much, whispering it over Langris’s sleeping head so as not to disturb the baby as he slept. Finral has never even entertained the notion that Langris belongs with anyone but him, too devoted for his own good perhaps but he knows better than anyone that Langris is his.

Just the thought of not seeing that bright, cheerful smile, those beautiful blue eyes, the way Langris says  _ nii-san _ that makes it feel as though roses are blooming between Finral’s ribs… He would hardly survive if he lost Langris, and he knows that.

“See?” Finral presses his fingers into Langris’s side, and the bright giggle that bounces off of the walls restores him in a way no amount of sleep or food ever could. “If they can have a little fae as a brother, then so can I. No reason to dispute it anymore.”

Langris looks up at him shyly, all softly flushed cheeks and beautiful eyes, and Finral wants to kiss him. Not even for the first time, but he wants to now, fiercely and more than ever before. Maybe it’s just because of Patolli and William, their bond reassuring him that a fae and a human can be together like that. Maybe just because Finral has had the urge for a few years now, ever since his mind first wandered to the thought of it.

Idle thoughts, and now he imagines pressing his lips to Langris’s own far too often.

“Are there lots of fae in Heart who live with humans?” Langris asks, and Finral leans back into the pillows, content to just… Listen while he tries to school his thoughts.

“Oh, of course. One of our very own is close with Heart’s queen as well. They’ve always had a good relationship with us.” Patolli shifts his wings wider apart, and now Finral can see William has his arms draped around Patolli’s shoulders, seemingly content to just stand there embracing him.  _ Cute… _ “Some of their citizens come to live with us if they catch the eye of one of our own, and some of us have gone to live with them.”

“And what about…” Langris trails off, and his face flushes such a dark pink that Finral raises an eyebrow. “What about all the stories? About the Clover prince, and…”

Maybe that was not the question to ask. “I’m sure those are probably all just stories.”

“Not quite  _ true _ stories, but it did happen, what you’re asking about.” Patolli kisses William on the cheek and the human slips from his arms, leaving them to talk while he disappears outside once more. “You’re asking me about Prince Lumiere, aren’t you? My other father.”

_ What? _ Finral opens his mouth to say something, but nothing more than a choked gasp leaves his lips while Langris sits up in bed. The blanket slides off of his lap a little and Finral immediately moves to pull it back up, since Langris is only wearing a shirt to sleep in. Last thing he wants is for Langris’s little legs to get chilly.

Poor baby was so cold when Finral was finally reunited with him, so now he doesn’t want Langris to so much as suffer an inconvenient draft ever again.

Finral really is just like Gauche, just without bleeding all over himself in the process.

“I was already born once the two of them met, but that doesn’t change the fact that Lumiere raised me alongside my own father.” Patolli comes to join them on the bed, taking Langris’s side of the mattress, which is just fine with Finral. “I know you’ve heard awful stories about the two of them, but I assure you that Lumiere is happy here. You can even meet the two of them when they are less busy, if you would like to, Langris.”

Immediately Langris brightens, his eyes glittering so fiercely as he bounces a little in place, and it warms Finral’s heart to see him have energy again. “I’d love to! I really can?”

“Of course.” Patolli reaches out to touch Langris’s hair. “Father was worried about you.”

It occurs to Finral, just faintly, that the  _ king _ of the fae being concerned about his brother is something huge, but he cannot deal with that right now. Instead, he watches as Langris’s eyes shine with wonder and awe, and it makes him melt all the way through.

His brother is alive, and well, and recovering. And Finral could not be more grateful.

William returns then, a small bag draped across his chest that he sets on the desk, his back to them. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m going to cut up these fruits, Langris, all right? And eat slowly like I’ve been telling you. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Yes, Sir,” Langris says promptly, and Patolli laughs that vibrant, warm laugh again.

The two of them linger for a few moments more once William brings over two bowls of fruit, offering one to Finral which he gladly accepts. He thought he might miss meat when he realized the fae not eating it meant there was none to procure within the forest itself, but the fruit has been more than willing enough on its own. Some of it is sweet and some of it savory, and all of it sets well in his stomach, filling enough that he never feels hungry as long as he eats three meals a day. And one bite and excited noise tells him Langris  _ loves _ it.

“Slowly,” he says around a mouthful of something bright and citrusy, and Langris nods up at him, chewing carefully before he swallows. This is what he should have been eating since day one, fruits that would sate his hunger and give him what he needs to grow.

After William and Patolli take their leave, Finral relaxes fully, watching Langris pick pieces of fruit out of his bowl and happily devour each one. Considering how upset he looked every time he had to eat at home, this is such a pleasant surprise. It makes Finral almost want to cry, like it should not have been this easy to make everything okay again.

And yet it was, and now Langris finishes his entire bowl without so much as a whine.

Finral drops both empty bowls back on the desk and watches as Langris slips out from under the blankets, bare feet almost soundless on the wooden floor. He walks over to the window and Finral just watches him lean against the sill, peering out into the pale morning light. Not much of it has come through the trees, though Finral is well aware that even truly bright sunlight struggles to seep through the dense foliage.

He stares at Langris’s slender back and wonders what his wings would have looked like, then tells himself not to worry about it too much. As long as Langris is alive and well and happy, that should be all that matters. And that  _ is _ all that matters to Finral.

Slowly, he wanders over and leans down to peer outside, resting a hand on Langris’s shoulder so he doesn’t accidentally bump into him. “Wanting to go outside today?”

“Too early.” Langris leans back against him and Finral’s hand slips down, across his chest, drawing Langris against him. “I want to go back to sleep for a little while first. You don’t mind staying with me so much, do you? I know you’re used to doing things.”

Finral stares outside at the thick tree trunks shooting up toward the sky, the colorful glimmer of fae wings as they carry themselves through the branches and greenery. Some of them stop to wave to Langris, and his brother waves back, sometimes excitedly, sometimes shyly. Here, the activity is significantly less than in more busy parts of the forest, something William explained to him. Fae will fly by to make sure none of William’s patients are lonely, but they try to be quiet so as not to disturb them.

He does want to explore, but he has no desire to leave Langris. “I’m fine staying with you. Besides, it’s nice to get to catch up on so much sleep. Relieving in a way.”

“Were you up a lot because of me?” Langris looks back at him, and Finral sighs as he leans down to kiss Langris’s small forehead. “I wish you weren’t, nii-san, you didn’t have to worry so much. I know telling you that doesn’t stop you from worrying, but—”

“My baby brother was sick and in bed all the time, and I wasn’t supposed to worry about him? Hush, baby, there was no avoiding it.” Finral kisses his forehead again and Langris whines softly, his cheeks picking up that soft pink again. And Finral tells himself it’s just… Embarrassment maybe, something, because  _ anything else _ is impossible. “Let’s get you back in bed if you're so sleepy, hmm? We can go out and explore this afternoon.”

Langris nods and pivots, throwing his arms around Finral’s waist with a sly little smile that Finral knows all too well. “Carry me back to bed, then, I’m so tired I can’t walk.”

“But you could walk to the window just fine,” Finral teases him, Langris giggling in answer.

That sound… Finral missed it far more than he is willing to admit, layering the curtains over the window before he lifts Langris easily off of his feet, up into his arms. He feels heavier now, more solid, warm as he curls himself against Finral’s chest, and Finral would carry him from place to place forever if he asked. Would let Langris ride around on his back if he wanted to, no longer having to worry about exhausting his little body.

Soon he’ll have back the energy he needs to play, and Finral might just actually die.

Langris tucks his face against Finra’s neck, soft damp breaths tickling his skin as Finral carries him back to bed. “Nii-san is so strong. I want to be as strong as you one day.”

“You will be. You’re getting stronger every day.” Finral sets him down carefully on his side of the mattress, watching him scoop his cat up into his arms, nuzzling down into the soft fur again. It destroys him every time, watching Langris cuddle the toy Finral gave him when he was still so small. When he was needy and wanted to do nothing more than to climb into Finral’s lap, to have his hair played with and his small face kissed.

He tucks the blanket around Langris’s back before coming back around to his side of the bed, and Langris is already reaching for him. It makes Finral seize the small hand in both of his, pressing a kiss to his delicate knuckles, and he is not imagining the way Langris blushes this time. He feels momentarily dizzy because he is an  _ idiot. _

Maybe he should apologize to Gauche when he can finally go back to the Bulls. There is no way he can pretend to simply not understand why Gauche is the way he is now.

“Nii-san is silly,” Langris murmurs, but he still reaches for Finral when he finally lays down, small fingers curling in the soft, loose fabric of Finral’s shirt. “It’s nice here, isn’t it?”

Finral nods, leaning down to kiss Langris’s forehead as he lies next to him, folding an arm to rest beneath his head as he looks down into those pretty blue eyes he knows so well. “It is. Nice and peaceful. The perfect place for you to get well again.”

“I hope we can come and visit after we go back to Clover.” Langris yawns a little and then wriggles closer to him, keeping his cat sandwiched between their bodies as he nuzzles into Finral’s chest. “We can, right? The fae have been so nice to me.”

Gently, Finral runs a finger along the edge of Langris’s ear, chuckling softly when his brother squirms and smacks his hand away. They must be sensitive, and this knowledge does nothing but make him want to be bad. To trace the point with his lips, his tongue, nibble a little—  _ Stop that. _ Langris is his little brother. He deserves better than this.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “You’ll have to ask Patolli’s father about that when we get to meet him. Maybe we can come back since you’re a fae. But do you really want to go?”

The speed at which Langris nods his head, not even a flash of hesitation or uncertainty in his eyes, makes Finral’s heart beat just a little bit faster. “I want to stay with you and be a Magic Knight so we can fight together. Now I’ll be healthy and strong. I can help!”

Finral really does want to cry, but Langris told him no more tears. Only happiness. So instead he leans down, pressing their faces together, never taking for granted how sweet it is to do this without feeling the familiar flush of fever in Langris’s skin. “Yes you can help. Captain Yami will be happy to take in such a smart, strong boy like you.”

He selfishly envisions it now, Langris in a Black Bulls cape and Finral’s spatial magic wrapped around them on all sides to keep him safe from any attacks. And he  _ will _ find a new spell so that Langris can attack without anyone else being able to reach him.

Langris looks up at him through his lashes, and Finral is always struck by how lovely he is, how pretty. The magenta swirls on his skin set off the blue of his eyes so well, making him even more ethereal, even lovelier. “Nii-san is the best big brother ever and I can’t wait until I can fight with you. I’ll definitely be able to get my grimoire now.”

The way he says that makes Finral ache, but he just nods and kisses Langris on the forehead again. “Yes, you definitely will. And I can’t wait to see what kind of mage you become. Easily one of the strongest in Clover. You’re going to make everyone so proud.”

When he pets a hand down Langris’s side, he digs his fingers in just a little to hear that sweet giggle one more time before soothing the spot he’d touched. The way Langris goes soft under his hand never fails to make something in him twist and want more, but Finral has control of himself. He would never do anything to hurt this brother, do anything that Langris might not like. But these small, innocent moments? He can have these.

And he is going to make the most of them now that he has Langris all to himself.

“We can have tickle fights again soon,” Langris muses, and Finral nods in agreement, gathering his little brother closer, tracing his fingers along Langris’s back to help soothe him to sleep like he has been. Just a reminder that Finral is near, watching over him, taking care of him. “And we can play as much as we want. And I won’t get sick this time.”

“Or ever again. You so much as get a cold and we’ll be right back here until you get better,” Finral murmurs, and Langris laughs a little against his chest, the sound muffled in fabric.

But he doesn’t disagree, pressing a hand to Finral’s chest right over where his heart is beating just a little too fast. “I love nii-san so much. I want to do everything with you that I couldn’t before. There’s a lot to do but I think we have plenty of time now.”

“We definitely do,” Finral agrees. “And I love you, too. So much. I’d do anything to make you happy, you know that? It’s worth it to see you smiling again.”

Langirs whines against his chest and Finral just hugs him tighter, knowing he’s embarrassing him now and not even caring because he’s just so happy. This feels impossible sometimes, like making it this far and seeing his brother happy, vibrant, and healthy again was never truly going to happen. Maybe some part of him was resigned, accepting, as if preparing just in case all of his efforts were in vain and nothing could be done.

But Finral has never been so happy to be wrong. Langris is safe now, wrapped in the security of his embrace, and Finral is never going to let him go ever again.

He tucks his face down into Langris’s hair and listens to his brother’s soft, easy breathing devoid of any coughing or choking or wheezing. They still have to worry about the trial, but one step at a time. After all, they have an entire forest to explore today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please kiss and put me out of my misery. i'm dying squirtle.


	14. Chapter 14

Yggdrasil is a massive tree as William promised she was, something that Langris marvels at as he clings to Finral’s neck, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. This is the easiest way for him to hold onto his brother while Finral climbs down the long rope ladder that leads to the base of the trunk, so huge that Langris can hardly process the sight. She juts up into the sky with such an impressive height that he wonders how William manages the climb up to each individual little house poised among her many branches, but he knows better. Patolli is probably involved, and it would be much easier to fly that high.

What dazzles him the most are the mushrooms. Large glowing mushrooms dot the thick trunk all the way up, some of them spotted white, all of them vibrant and beautiful. He can see some smaller fae sitting on them, their wings reflecting the glow beneath and lighting up even more beautifully than before. The existence of such a place is amazing to him.

Finral’s feet make a soft  _ thud _ as he hops off the bottom rung of the rope, one hand moving to curl over where Langris’s fingers cling to his shirt. “That was perfect. You aren’t tired, are you? We’ll be able to get up and down okay like this, I hope.”

“I’m fine.” Surprisingly, Langris is being honest with him. He feels good today, and he is excited to explore what they can from the floor of the forest. Maybe meet some of the other fae that he’s only seen flutter by. After all, only Patolli has come to visit him.

“Do you want to walk?” Finral asks, and when Langris nods, he crouches down so Langris can easily slip off of his back. “All right, give me your hand. I don’t want to lose you.”

Most children his age would probably roll their eyes but Langris eagerly slips his hand into Finral’s instead. He can just barely recall clinging tightly to him as a child, wandering through the garden together on warm days. It was like a maze to him then and Finral promised never to let him get lost, always twining their fingers together so Langris felt safe and sound with him. He always has, really. Finral is his safe place.

And Finral’s hand feels so warm around his, strong and secure, and Langris presses up close to him, not wanting to get lost here even though he thinks it would be easy to find a fae who would take him back to the Yggdrasil tree. “Where do we go first?”

“Wherever you want to go,” Finral says, and then a broad shadow sweeps over both of them and makes Langris squeak as he looks up to see where that came from.

His eyes are met with a pair of violet wings so vibrant that they stick out even among the fae, huge and imposing as someone lands on the ground in front of them. Fae dust is showered over both of them and Langris giggles as Finral runs a hand through his hair, shaking it out as best he can with an irritated expression. Without wings, Langris won’t be covering their bed with dust himself, but he can’t be bothered to worry that much.

Hard to miss something he never had when he  _ finally _ has everything he wants right here.

“So I see the two of you have finally come out to play.” The fae who lands in front of them is tall and slender, his expression haughty, and something about his mana seems almost familiar. Eyes the same vibrant color of his wings are fixed on Finral. “I hate to be proven wrong, but in this instance I’m glad for that. Your brother does seem happy with you.”

“I told you he wanted me to be with him, Letra-san.” Finral smiles faintly, but his eyes are… Hard, uncertain, and wait, he knows this fae’s name? Langris doesn’t know him.

“Just Letra is fine.” The fae, Letra, kneels down, and now his gaze shifts to Langris. His expression melts into a far more tender one, a soft kind smile that makes Langris feel shy as he presses himself against Finral’s side. “Nice to finally meet you properly, little one. And to see you up and about. I was one of the fae who greeted your brother at the edge of the forest, so I saw your condition just before William attended to you.”

That would explain how Finral knows who this fae is. “Hello, I’m Langris.”

Being called  _ little one _ makes him feel funny, the same way it does every time William or Patolli says it, but he  _ is _ little to them although William doesn’t really look that old. Langris never asked his fa—  _ Ledior _ what age William was when he was taken in by the fae. Not taken  _ away. _ The way he and Patolli hug and kiss each other proves how much they love each other, even Langris can see that. People in Clover have just been telling lies.

“Langris is such a nice name.” Letra holds out a hand to him and Langris takes it, letting the older fae kiss the back of his hand even though it makes him press into Finral more. “I have a brother about your age. I’m sure the two of you can be good friends.”

“You have a brother and you doubted my intentions,” Finral mutters under his breath.

Letra huffs as he stands, letting go of Langris’s hand, and one flutter of his wings is enough to blow their hair back out of their faces. “Far be it from me to distrust humans, but I had every reason in the world to believe you’d be just like your parents.”

The barb of those words has Langris reaching up to grab Finral, shaking his head violently. “Nii-san is  _ nothing _ like them. He’s good and he’s always taken care of me, ever since I was just a little boy.” Because he won’t stand for anyone being rude about Finral.

“I can see that now. And I suppose I do owe him an apology for the assumption, though I loathe apologies.” Letra tilts his head back and sighs, but his expression relaxes into something less tense as he looks at Finral again. “So I apologize, Finral Roulacase, for not believing that you cared about your brother. I can see that’s obviously untrue.”

Finral nods slowly, squeezing Langris’s hand and smiling down at him, and Langris can’t help but beam up at him. “Thank you for the apology, I accept it. I suppose I understand why you’d be so paranoid anyway, he really was in bad shape when I brought him here.”

“William is a miracle worker. We’ve had far less concern about injury and illness ever since Patolli brought him to us.” The obvious pride in Letra’s voice makes Langris look up at him again, considering. “Are the two of you out and about to explore this afternoon?”

“Yes, but we don’t know where to start,” Langris says, and Finral gives his hand another squeeze, thumb brushing over his knuckles. It makes his hand feel oddly warm.

Letra clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and then smiles at them. “Why don’t I show you around a bit, then? We won’t go too far, probably best not to tire you out so soon, but I can show you a few interesting things before it starts to get dark.”

“Do the mushrooms here grow throughout the whole forest?” Finral asks, nodding toward Yggdrasil as they both take a step forward, Letra already turning to lead them away.

“They do. They grew here long before William came, though. Hard to say if the stories are true or not, but one of our former kings had the same type of magic as William.” Letra beckons them to follow, and Langris feels his stomach grow fluttery with excitement and anticipation as they follow after the fae. Those glowing mushrooms are so pretty.

As soon as they step through another pair of huge tree trunks, a loud voice shouts out, making Langris jump as he surveys the area. Where did that weird sound come from?

“Onii-chan!” This time the shout is much more clearly a word and Langris swivels his head around, his eyes picking out a small form positioned high in the sky above them, most visible because of his brilliant blue wings. “What are you doing down there?”

Letra’s head tilts back, and Langris is not imagining the way he smiles. It changes his entire face, softening every line of it, filling his eyes with such warmth that it almost feels wrong to look at him, like Langris is peeking at a private moment. And it reminds him so suddenly of  _ Finral _ and the way his brother sometimes looks at him, especially when it is just the two of them, like the love he has for Langris is overwhelming.

Langris’s face burns at the thought, but he just cannot tear his eyes away from Letra.

“That your brother?” Finral asks, glancing up at the trees, at the small giggling shape far above them. “Oh, he’s cute. Does he want to come with us, do you think?”

_ Cute.  _ Langris huffs and tightens his grip on his brother’s hand as he presses in closer.

Not cuter than him, he thinks, not in a thousand years. Finral would never think that, would he? He must just be trying to be nice to Letra since Ratri is supposed to be around Langris’s age. Will he wants to play at all if Langris can’t fly with him?

“That’s a good question.” Letra stretches a hand up, beckoning to the fluttering shape above them, and the boy  _ dives _ straight down, wings folding tight behind him.

Ratri pulls up short before he touches the ground, fluttering in mid-air with ease, bending at the waist so that his face is level with Letra’s. “You tried to run away from me but I caught you again! Oh.” His eyes slide over slightly, over Finral and Langris. “Friends?”

“They could be. I told you about them already. The fae boy and his human brother.” Letra gestures toward them with one hand, never taking his eyes off of his little brother’s face. They do look alike, Langris thinks, but he finds himself almost unnerved at how much the little fae boy looks like  _ him. _ “Finral Roulacase is the human. His brother is Langris.”

Ratri’s eyes are a deeper, more piercing blue than Langris’s are, lacking any of the green undertones Langris knows are in his own eyes. He stared at his reflection so much in the mirror, tracking the deterioration of his body through his features and the bags under his eyes, that he could probably recreate the color without having to double check.

“Langris-chan is a fae after all,” Ratri says, fluttering over, lowering himself so that his face is closer to Langris’s height. “But you don’t have wings. What happened to them?”

Finral lets go of his hand just to grab Langris around the shoulders, pulling him close up against his side. The protective edge to the movement is not something Langris would miss in a thousand years, and he almost vibrates with it. “ _ They _ removed them when he was very small, we believe. Hard to tell because neither of us have memories of it.”

“That’s awful.” Ratri drops to the forest floor, his face momentarily stricken before he gives himself a little shake and holds out his hands. “Sorry for asking, I shouldn’t have. Some people think I’m nosy and I shouldn’t be asking rude questions like that.”

“Who said that?” Letra demands, whirling around, his gaze smoldering. “I’ll kill them.”

Ratri waves him off without even turning around, taking Langris’s hands in both of his own, lacing their fingers together. “Is this the first time you’ve been out and about since coming here? I think I would have noticed you around. People would have gossipped.”

Langris squints up at him. “Have people been gossipping about me, then?”

“Just a few here and there. Hard not to, we don’t often have fae children who come back in the shape you did.” Ratri leans closer to him, his gaze intense as he studies Langris’s face, and the closeness of him is almost disturbing. “You look like me, that’s funny. Maybe we’re related somehow? Sometimes fae leave and don’t come back, so it’s possible.”

Letra settles a hand down on Ratri’s shoulder, tugging him back, putting some distance between him and Langris. “He does, a bit, but he’s not as pretty as you are.”

“You always say that, Letra-nii.” Ratri lets go of Langris’s hands to turn, tucking his arms around Letra’s waist, his eyes going unexpectedly soft as he looks up at his brother.

“And I’m always right every time I say it. You are and always have been the prettiest little boy.” Letra combs his fingers through Ratri’s hair, and Ratri makes a happy little noise as he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering half-shut as if he’s luxuriating in it. Like a cat. “Well, do you want to come with us, then? Show them around a little bit?”

“Not taking them  _ there, _ are you?” Ratri asks, and Letra gives him a sharp look that has the boy bursting into giggles, tucking his face against his brother’s ribs to hide.

Instead of answering, Letra lifts his head again, slinging his arm around Ratri’s shoulders to keep him close. “There are a few interesting places near here. Come with me.”

Ratri never says whether he is coming with them or not, but he stays with them, half-wrapped around his brother so that they both have to turn and walk forward together. Langris untucks himself from Finral’s side and takes his brother by the hand again, leading him forward, eager to follow their tour guides so he can become familiar with the forest. Since he is a fae, he wants to come visit here often even after he leaves to join the Black Bulls. It will be nice if Finral can come here and rest sometimes.

When he glances back at Finral’s face, Langris is quietly surprised to see how stricken Finral looks, but he gives it a quick shake off and favors Langris with a smile that makes him feel warm all the way through. Only his brother can smile at him like that.

True to their word, Letra and Ratri do not take them far from Yggdrasil, Letra throwing a remark here and there over his shoulder as he goes. “All of the trees here aren’t William’s, but all of them are linked to his mana now. World Tree magic calls to its own.”

“Does he just make really big trees?” Langris asks, craning his head up to see the ceiling of greenery above them, the leaves so thick and heavy that it looks impossibly dense.

“They all have different kinds of functions,” Ratri says, giving Letra a squeeze before falling back to walk beside Langris. “Some of them are offensive, but he almost never has to use those.  _ Almost _ never. One time he used one of them against Diamond mages.”

“What did it do?” Langris is mystified. No one has ever had magic of this scale that he has personally seen, but he struggles to conceptualize how one might fight with it.

Ratri spreads his hands wide, his eyes glittering with mirth as he answers the question. “William grew a huge tree in the  _ sky, _ ” he says, and Langris shakes his head in disbelief. “No, he can! Not all of them have to be planted. It came out of the sky and shot pieces of wood out at them. Even the limbs and roots can attack like projectiles. It’s  _ amazing. _ ”

“He’s not lying to you,” Letra says, waving for them to keep up with his sure strides. “That’s how William fights. Just because his trees protect us doesn’t mean he isn’t a fighter at heart. Most support types of magic can become offensive, too.”

Langris tries to envision that, someone as gentle as William commanding such a large weapon, but he has trouble imagining it. Maybe one day there will be a situation where he gets to see it for himself, but for now all he can really do is think about it.

Letra turns to look at them, beckoning with his fingers again. “A river cuts through here, you can come here to bathe or to wash if you need to. Someone’s been handling cleaning your clothes for you since Langris has been recovering and needed to be watched over.”

“Where does the river come from? I’ve never heard of one leading into or out of the forest,” Finral says, but Langris understands what he really means. Those idiotic enough to try to sneak into the trees would have tried the river first, and he hasn’t heard of anyone speaking of it. Langris wonders who he knows that would have tried to do that.

Maybe just other Magic Knights. If anyone in the Black Bulls squad tried such a thing, Finral would have known better, and probably would have told Langris about it.

“We have a waterfall nearer the edge of the trees, and the river ends before the end of the forest. It doesn’t lead anywhere but here.” Letra winks at him, turning to beckon again.

There is a river cutting through the rich grass and dark soil, the banks damp where the water laps lazily at their edges. The river is wide but clear enough that Langris can see down to the bottom, colorful little fish darting through the stream. None of them have to worry about being captured if none of the fae eat meat, but Langris wonders about the other humans who must live here. There have been implications there are others.

He wonders if those humans eat meat. Or if they prefer fruits like the fae do. Maybe he should ask, but before he can, Ratri flutters his wings and takes off into the air again, skimming his fingers over the top of the river and splashing the bank. He giggles and cups his hands, dipping them beneath the water, bringing them to his lips and drinking.

“We have a few water magic blessed fae who keep the water clean,” Letra explains.

Langris wanders closer to the edge of the river. He was never allowed to learn how to swim when he was a child. There was too much concern about him slipping beneath and not having the strength to swim back to the surface, or perhaps venturing into a lake so large he would not have the energy to swim back. Plenty of excuses to be made. But Finral probably knows, he thinks, and maybe his brother will be willing to teach him how.

For now, he dips a hand into the cool clear water, watching as a curious fish swims up to nibble his fingers before darting away, satisfied Langris is not appropriate food.

“Can you swim?” Ratri comes to flutter in the air just before him, and Langris glances up at him as he straightens, shaking stray droplets from his fingers. “I can, but I have to be careful of my wings. Wouldn’t want to bash them against something by accident.”

The thought of pretty blue tearing against a sharp stone makes Langris shudder, but then he shakes his head. “I can’t. I was always told there was no point in trying to learn.”

“Sounds like your life was really boring back home, huh?” Ratri skims the tip of his shoe in the water, his expression thoughtful and yet somehow distant. “I’ll bet you didn’t get to play with other kids often, did you? I bet your awful parents kept them away.”

That… Is true, but Langris only swallows down the ache at the thought that he missed out on  _ so  _ much as a child. “I was sick most of the time, or training. Once nii-san left home, I was supposed to be the next Head of House. And that meant I had to be stronger and my magic had to be better. So I’d train sometimes until it made me sick again.”

The low, wounded sound behind him is familiar. He knows Finral’s miserable sounds too well.

Sometimes it makes him angry to recognize sounds like that, to know how Finral vocalizes when something hurts him. Finral should never have to hurt so much in one lifetime.

Ratri frowns at Langris, giving his head a small shake before coming to land on the riverbank at his side. “That doesn’t seem like they had good intentions for you, then. You could have easily just gotten worse training so hard. Some humans are so strange to me.”

“They were malicious, little brother.” Letra joins them, folding an arm around Ratri’s shoulders from behind, drawing him back against his chest. “You have to stop thinking of them as having tried to do the right thing and understand they only selfishly wanted what would benefit them the most. Imagine if our parents treated you like that.”

“But you’d never let them. You’d have killed them for it.” Ratri tilts his head back and Letra laughs, leaning down to kiss the tip of his brother’s nose.

But the smile he offers is one tinged with malicious intent, and Langris shivers at the very sight of it. “You’re right. I would have done that for you, to keep you safe and sound.”

“I can’t say anything against that.” The words are Finral’s, and his hands are warm as they slide down Langris’s chest, drawing him back into a similar position, his back cushioned against Finral’s torso, nice and safe. “I won’t have to do it myself, their punishment will be handled by the courts and judgment of the people. I don’t think it’ll end well for them.”

“Do you think they’ll be executed?” Langris asks, looking back and up at his brother.

He has a moment of stunned silence at the sight of his brother’s expression, the soft lines of his face drawn taut and sharp enough to cut, sharp enough to draw blood. Maybe Langris should have realized by now that Finral had long since moved past the realization that Langris has only recently come to. Ledior and Liliane Vaude did not love Langris, not enough  Finral looks down at him, and his expression softens, grows warm and fond as if someone dusted away all the darkness from his face. “I don’t know, baby. But if they are, then it will be because they earned that punishment. It isn’t up to us what happens to them.”

Langris knows that, and truth be told, he has no idea how he would go about punishing them for what they did to him and how they made him suffer. Probably, he would step down at the last moment and try to come up with excuses for them, too tangled up in the idea of potentially seeing his parents—  _ No,  _ the Vaudes. Potentially seeing the Vaudes die. Neither of them are his parents, because neither of them treated him like proper parents should.

It might take a long time for his heart to understand what his mind is slowly learning.

“I know that.” Langris shivers when Finral leans down, lips ghosting against his forehead, almost a parallel of what Letra did moments before to Ratri. “I just… I don’t know.”

Finral touches his cheek, his fingers tracing a delicate path that makes Langris think he must be touching the mark there, the slender swirl. “I think you’ll do just fine figuring it out, given enough time. Try not to stress too much over it, for me? So you’ll stay well.”

“I’ll do my best as long as you promise to help me,” Langris says, and Finral nods in agreement, his fingers sliding back into Langris’s hair, playing with the soft locks.

“Oh, I thought we had to be more careful for a moment.” Letra laughs softly and Langris makes a noise, looking straight again so he can see the other fae leaning down further over Ratri, his hands settling against the boy’s chest gently. “But it looks like I was wrong on that count. It looks like there was no reason for us to be careful at all.”

Ratri scoffs up at him, lifting a hand to cup it against the back of Letra’s neck, trying to draw him down closer. “You’re always wrong about things like this, Letra-nii.”

“I don’t read people that well sometimes. I don’t need to, as long as I understand you.” Letra leans down again, his lips brushing Ratri’s forehead. “Would you disagree?”

“No, I guess  _ not. _ At least for now.” Ratri twirls around in his arms, wings spraying dust across the grass, and giggles as he throws his arms around his brother’s waist once again. The easy way the two of them fit together makes Langris want so fiercely.

One day, he and Finral will be that easy to puzzle together, like the edges of them were shaped just for each other. He wants that with his brother, that casual and easy warmth, just to have it. Just to know that he and Finral love each other that much, something to make up for all those weeks and months spent without one another. Sometimes the separation was worse pain than the illness clawing its way through his body.

_ The glamour, _ Langris thinks,  _ and then the poison. _ The thought makes him shudder.

Letra smiles, combing his fingers through Ratri’s hair, chuckling faintly as the boy almost…  _ Rubs _ against him, Langris thinks, again like a cat needy for love and affection. Is he like that with Finral, is that what other people see? “Well, if I needn’t deprive you of what you want around the two of them after all, then I suppose I won’t make you suffer any longer.”

Before Langris has even a moment to ponder the meaning of those words, Letra tilts his head down, and Langris thinks he means to kiss Ratri on the forehead again. But Letra dips his head lower than that, his fingers lacing together in Ratri’s hair to hold him in place, keeping him still as Letra presses his lips to his little brother’s, softly pouted and waiting. Langris’s mouth falls open a little, a soundless gasp leaving his throat as he watches the two of them. Because he must be imagining it, surely, they’re  _ brothers. _

The kiss lingers, slow and gentle, the movement of lips against lips a gentle dance that only seems to draw the brothers closer to one another. A small noise drifts from their attached mouths, Langris not sure if the breathy whimper belonged to the older or younger brother, but he finds himself enthralled as he watches the two of them.

No one ever told him brothers could do this, kiss like this. He watches as Ratri’s hands come up to rest against Letra’s chest, pressing into his skin but not pushing him away. Just… Touching him, as the boy leans up on his toes, as if pressing more of himself into the movements of his mouth. Letra’s arm is there in a breath of a moment, keeping his little brother stable despite the position, until the lines of their bodies meld together.

“Oh,” Finral whispers from behind him, but Langris can hardly tear his eyes away from the sight before him to know what it is that his brother is thinking of this moment.

And maybe he should, just to see how Finral sees this, what he thinks of the sight of the two fae brothers kissing, but Langris is afraid. If Finral is disgusted by this display, then that means… No, Langris was never going to tell him anyway. Never going to chase those foolish, far-off fantasies that would only end in anguish and pain.

Finral can never love him the way Langris loves Finral, and that… That has to be fine, because the thought of losing him entirely is too strong for Langris to bear.

The brothers part, and Letra flicks his tongue out across his lips, chuckling softly when Ratri whines up at him, burying his face in Letra’s chest. “Sorry, but you know I can’t help overwhelming you. You make the cutest little sounds when it’s too much.”

Ratri shakes his head against Letra’s chest, refusing to look up even when his brother kisses the top of his head. “Onii-chan is so mean to do that in front of other people! How would you like it if I made you feel all embarrassed like that? You’d be so mad.”

“I like it when you fluster me.” Letra kisses the top of his head again, nuzzling down into his hair a little, and Ratri makes a soft, small noise in his throat. “Well, we’ve kept our guests long enough I think. Let’s keep going, we can show them where the grimoires are.”

When the two of them turn as if nothing at all occurred, Langris sneaks a glance up just to see what Finral must have thought of that kiss. Likely he thought it distasteful, and Langris could never blame him for that. Sibling marriages are… Inconvenient at best in Clover Kingdom, because there can be complications, but—

Langris blinks, staring up at his brother. At Finral’s flushed, hot cheeks and the way his eyes are sharp, staring after the pair. Fixed on them as if he’s looking for something, but there is almost pain there. No, not  _ pain, _ but… Longing.

Langris swallows hard and looks away from Finral’s face, reaching for his brother’s hand and leading him after the pair, who hold hands as casually as lovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ratri is to langris as letra is to finral
> 
> also ratri deserves a slightly yandere brother who wants to kiss him and kill anyone else who tries


	15. Chapter 15

“Nii-san, do you think we can go back now?” The hand clasped firmly in Finral’s own gives a delicate tug to draw his attention, reminding him Langris came out low on energy.

“Of course we can. Are you tired?” Finral stops abruptly behind their two fae guides, not quite able to look his brother in the eyes as he combs the fingers of his free hand through Langris’s hair. “I can carry you back if you want. You’re not so heavy I can’t manage.”

Langris’s eyelids flutter shut as he leans into the touch, and Finral imagines cupping the back of his head and drawing him closer. And  _ damn _ those fae brothers for stirring up his feelings as if lighting them aflame, forcing him to confront the intensity with which they burn despite his ignorance. Finral was doing fine. He was certain he could have lived the rest of his life without doing something to compromise his relationship with Langris.

But it was painfully easy to imagine himself in Letra’s position, to imagine Langris in Ratri’s, to imagine leaning down to kiss his brother as sweetly as can be. And Finral wants to. Even now, the temptation to lean down and capture Langris’s lips with his own is powerful.

“Poor thing, you really must be tired.” Finral drops his hand and steps closer, tilting his head down, so close yet so  _ far, _ but stops as he rests his forehead against Langris’s own.

Langris makes a small noise up at him, small fingers knotting in Finral’s shirt and giving it a gentle tug. “I am, so can we go back? I thought I’d be able to stay out longer, but…”

“You don’t need to make excuses for yourself or apologize. You did wonderfully in getting this far today, and I am so proud of you.” Finral leans back just enough to brush his lips against Langris’s forehead, and he notices now that Letra and Ratri have stopped walking, both turned to watch them, their gazes curious enough to make Finral’s skin itch.

_ It looks like there was no reason for us to be careful at all. _

The words dance through his head in a maddening mantra, making it difficult to focus on anything more than the way Langris looks up at him with sleepy eyes. What Letra had seen in the two of them to decide that is beyond Finral, but he can take a guess and it makes him wonder if he failed to hide his feelings at all. In their casual affection, in their touchiness, in the way Finral can never quite keep his hands to himself, always wanting to touch Langris’s face or hair or just draw him near for the sake of it.

Whatever Letra saw in the two of them, he deemed it safe enough to kiss Ratri in front of them, and Ratri seemed just as confident in the assertion. So what did the two of them really see? Finral is going to go mad trying to puzzle out the intricacies of it.

But first, he crouches down so Langris can climb up onto his back, the familiar weight almost soothing as he straightens up with Langris happily nuzzling into his hair. It tickles a little and he laughs— And then he catches the two fae brothers watching them.

“We’ll walk you back,” Letra decides, coming to join them, Ratri trailing just behind, grasping his brother’s hand. “Did he push himself too hard? Apologies if he did.”

“Not at all. He’s just fine.” Finral clasps a hand over where Langris’s hands are resting on top of each other, arms looped around his neck to keep him steady.

Ratri smiles up at them, stepping so close to Finral that it makes him twitch. “You have to get better soon, Langris, all right? Then I can show you all over the forest, and we can be proper friends. I bet the others want to play with you just as much.”

Finral would be lying if he said he never noticed any other fae watching the four of them, especially the smaller ones who darted through the shadows and played high in the tree limbs above. Sometimes he would catch them hovering in the air like colorful little hummingbirds, staring down at them as if they wanted to fly down and ask all sorts of questions. Not that Finral can blame them. He’s gleaned enough today to know that fae treated like Langris are so rare that it almost never happens, if it does at all.

Or maybe they were watching to see if Finral would prove to be just the same as Letra.

Ridiculous, he thinks none of them would really care if he was, especially since Letra and Ratri have been casually trading kisses and sweet words ever since their first, but… Finral has spent the better part of his  _ life _ hiding these feelings. He feels addled now.

What part of them made Letra think it was okay to kiss Ratri in front of them?

“I’ll try.” Langris’s voice is warm but soft with fatigue, and Finral gives his little hands what he hopes is a comforting squeeze. “You have to come see me again, too.”

Ratri’s eyes glitter as he nods, leaning up to touch his hand to Langris’s cheek; Finral has to turn his head to see it, his heart softening at the gentleness. “I will! I’ll bring you something nice to eat in the morning, too, since you’re allowed to have fruits again.”

“Thank you.” Langris yawns, and Ratri steps back to tuck himself under the arm Letra offers him without even having to look bad. Like he knows. Like the two of them have such a complete rhythm that he just  _ knows. _ “Let’s go back, nii-san. I want to eat before bed.”

Letra leads them back the way they came, Finral focusing on making sure that Langris stays awake long enough that he won’t slip off of Finral’s back while they climb up the ladder to their little house. Having Langris fall and injure himself is only going to make certain suspicious fae more certain that Finral is not up to the job of taking care of his little brother, and he has no desire to give them more ammunition than they have.

At the base of the tree, Ratri steps forward again, his hand catching Finral by the shirt. “Why don’t you let me take him up? I can fly and I can get up faster than you can.”

The thought of handing Langris off to someone else makes Finral uncomfortable, but the fae boy in front of him only smiles sweetly and earnestly. “Are you sure you can manage?”

“He doesn’t look that heavy.” Ratri’s wings flutter to life and Finral tenses slightly when he feels arms sliding against his back, dislodging Langris from his position. “It’s all right, Langris, I won’t drop you. I’ve carried around humans your size without any issue.”

“Humans?” Finral raises an eyebrow, but it’s Letra who answers him, not Ratri.

“Other humans live here, though most fae are rarely interested in bringing adults to our forest.” Letra puts a steadying hand on his shoulder to keep him still, and Finral watches as Ratri flutters into sight, Langris carefully cradled against his chest, wide-eyed.

Ratri smiles at him, and his grip seems firm and strong, practiced with time as he looks up at the house above them, positioned so loftily in the trees it almost looks like it could fall any moment. “I’ll just go ahead and take him up now, all right? It’s a short trip.”

“Are you fine with this?” Finral asks his brother, eyes fixed on the small, flushed face.

“Y-yes, I was just startled he could ever pick me up at first.” Langris giggles a little when Ratri laughs, pressing their cheeks together, and they really  _ do _ look a lot alike now that Finral really looks at the two of them like this. The swirls on their cheeks are different, but something about their features is similar. “I’m sure it will be alright, nii-san.”

Ratri beams at Finral and then flutters up toward the house, but Letra drops a hand on Finral’s shoulder when he moves toward the rope ladder. “I’ll take you up myself in just a moment, but I wanted to talk to you before I did. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“You really don’t have to fly me up there, I’m not tired.” Langris might have run out of energy early, but Finral is just fine. He could have kept going if need be, Magic Knight training coming in handy more often these days. Yami demanded they surpass their limits.

“Consider it repayment for me taking up your time like this, because I know you’d rather be up there with Langris.” Letra flashes him a smile, and Finral slowly nods in assent. “I should apologize for the way I spoke to you when you brought him here. I only saw a human who could be responsible for his suffering. I didn’t see a brother who dearly loved him.”

“I…” Finral trails off, not sure what to say, because what does Letra  _ mean _ by that?

But the fae continues, seemingly taking Finral’s hesitance as a sign he can continue speaking. “It’s not often that fae children come back to us like this, you understand. Usually they come back to us perfectly healthy and much younger. Human parents see their child starting to change, and they want  _ their _ baby back, so they come to us. And we’ll let them have that child and take back our own, and we go on with our lives like that.”

“Is there any particular reason that the fae take human children so often?” Because Finral would be lying to say he was not a little curious as to why anyone would do such a thing.

And rarely there are fae who can answer these questions. There must have been a human child to take where Langris was concerned, and Finral wonders if he might be somewhere in the forest, living his life happily with his adoptive parents. If he plays with fae children his age, if he looks like he would be Finral’s brother. If he has spatial magic, too.

“Different reasons. I’ve never done it myself.” Letra rolls a shoulder, glancing up toward the house above them, where Ratri and Langris have disappeared inside. “I keep myself busy with that one. But usually we take in sick infants. Those who won’t survive.”

Finral shudders at the thought that the child whose place Langris took might have been dying or nearly dead when the children were switched. “Do you think that… That he—”

Letra looks at him, and the weight of his gaze is raw, painful, sorrowful. “I asked around. It took a long time to find any information, but the child who would have grown up to be your human brother passed away before he was safely brought to the forest.”

There is no painful shock, nothing to feel really other than a vague sense of sadness for a child who was never able to live. A child who had only one chance, but it fell through. “That’s so tragic. I never really knew him, of course, I only remember Langris, and he was fine. They must have looked similar enough at least to me, but I was just a child. I suppose… In the end, Liliane probably knew. Mothers tend to know, don’t they?”

“I have no idea. I don’t talk to the human parents who come to our forest. I’ve never taken a child in, as I said, so I have no reason to meet with them.” Letra stretches out a hand, his touch gentle as he cups Finral’s cheek, and this feels… Warm and reassuring, in the same way that Rill so often did. Some innate fae quality that Finral doesn’t know how to describe other than that it’s there. “Some of them  _ do _ love those children but feel they could never be proper parents to them, and I suppose I understand that. We did have a pair of siblings that I dealt with directly just because I was in the area.”

“Siblings?” Finral raises an eyebrow, comically sensing a theme going on here.

For a moment, Letra is silent, considering, and then his smile is bittersweet, sad again. “The parents tried to kill the fae by throwing him into the fire. There are some strange rumors and whispers in Spade, I suppose. But the older brother killed the parents.”

“That must have taken… Considerable courage.” There is nothing else Finral can say to this but that, his eyes so wide it almost hurts as he stares at Letra and tries to comprehend that. Would he have been half as strong, if the harm was that visible? “Wait, but you said you dealt with them, so they came here? They brought the boy back after that?”

Letra nods, then shakes his head. Complicated, Finral thinks. “They came here with him to ask us how to take care of him, the brother and his sister. They’d decided that the boy was their little brother, because they had all their memories with him. They wanted him.”

_ They wanted him. _ Finral glances up toward the house again, a scattered handful of childhood memories coming back to him. Most of them are when Langris was a toddler, walking for the first time, working his way around to sentences. The way his face would light up when Finral came into the room with him, how he’d stumble over as quickly as he could, how Finral would sweep Langris up into his arms and kiss his small, soft face.

Blood means nothing. He would have had no connection with his human brother even if the child lived and flourished here in the forest. Finral only knows and remembers Langris.

“You love your brother. I see it in the way you look at him, the way you touch him. The way even the sound of his voice makes you smile.” Letra’s voice dips low and knowing, and Finral feels a creeping sensation along his spine. Like being watched, only Letra is in front of him. “I don’t know if he knows how much yet, or if you’re even willing to admit it. But you do.”

Finral swallows hard around the tightness in his throat, not sure if he is ready to handle the enormity of these words. “I don’t know if I’m ready to even think about that yet.”

“Take as much time as you need. Time is something you have now, but don’t squander it.” Letra glances up with him; Finral wonders if he can hear them up there, but dismisses the thought because the fae have said nothing about more powerful senses. “I think he loves you, too, for what it’s worth. He might just not be ready to handle that.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.” Finral wants to laugh off the notion entirely, because thinking about Langris like… No, he refuses that. Not now. Not ever. Projecting his feelings onto his brother is only going to end in pain and heartbreak for both of them.

Letra pats him on the cheek, and the warmth begins again, spreading slow and easy through his veins, softening his muscles. “Trust me, you ignorant human, and make sure you tell your brother you love him as much as you feel comfortable saying it. He needs that right now.”

To that, Finral can agree. If anyone needs that right now, it’s Langris, who has never been loved nearly enough. “Of course. Thank you for the talk. I accept your apology, of course.”

“You’re a kinder man than me. I’d have gutted anyone who implied I didn’t love my brother.” Letra grins at him, but the sharp glint in his eye implies this is not nearly the joke it sounds like, and then he scoops Finral off of his feet as if he weighs absolutely nothing.

His strength is impressive, and Finral throws a glance at the forest around them as Letra easily flies him the distance to the house, letting Finral pull himself up to the door and inside with little assistance. Ratri has taken to sitting on William’s desk, his wings leaving traces of fae dust on its surface, while Langris sits on the edge of the bed. Their  _ shared _ bed, and Finral wonders if it looks different than it is for them to sleep together.

“Onii-chan flew you up?” Ratri hops off of the desk, his eyes fixed on the door, not on Finral at all. “I’ll be going then. I hope you feel up to playing in the morning, Langris!”

“I’ll try.” Langris smiles, the pleasant warmth of the expression making Finral’s stomach somersault as he thinks about how such a small thing is so amazing to him.

Langris is going to have friends his age now. He’s never been able to have that before.

“Bye bye!” Ratri wiggles his fingers at both of them and then launches himself out the door; Finral watches as Letra catches him in midair, closing the door to give them a modicum of privacy. Their soft laughter seeps through the wood.

The small house feels quiet now without the two vibrant fae chatting with each other to fill up the silence, and Finral feels almost awkward. He wants to walk over to the bed, sit down with Langris and ask him how he felt about today, but nothing comes out. Instead he just lingers by the desk, over the pile of fruit William left before they went out for the day with the reassurance it would stay fresh until Langris came back to eat it. He wanted to give them space, clearly, and Finral wonders if he might suspect something, too.

Langris clears his throat, kicking his small legs against the side of the bed as he stares down at the floor. The very tips of his cute little pointy ears are turning pink. “They, um… They seem to love each other a lot. I’ve never seen brothers do that before.”

“Kiss like that?” Finral ventures a guess and feels his face flame when Langris nods, watching color bloom in his brother’s cheeks. “I guess… Things are different here.”

He can only imagine what that kind of behavior would spawn in Clover as far as gossip goes, what people might say if he ever…  _ No. _ Finral gives himself a shake, watching as Langris squirms on the mattress, his face going redder and redder.  _ Damn _ Letra and his inability to keep his hands off of his brother for even one minor tour of the forest, but maybe Finral should do something. Loosen the tension, make Langris smile and laugh again.

“Did you have fun today?” he asks, crossing the small room to drop down on the mattress next to his brother. It bounces hard enough to make Langris squeak, his hands flying out to keep his balance. “Oops, sorry. You really are light enough that I could toss you around.”

Langris scowls at him, but there is no heat in the expression, the corners of his soft little mouth already trying to quirk up into a smile. “ _ Rude. _ And I did. I had a lot of fun.”

“I’m glad to hear that. If you’re feeling up to it, we can explore more tomorrow, too. And you can play with Ratri.” Finral lets himself fall back on the bed, not tired, not even close, but this entire place just… Relaxes him so much, makes him feel better than he has in months. As if soothing the results of so much stress and worry from his body.

He grunts when Langris flops over on top of him, glancing down to see his brother’s pretty eyes peeking up at him from under those long, long lashes. “Did nii-san have fun? I know this is probably boring for you, since you’re used to going on missions and such.”

Finral is literally never going to tell him that half the time, Yami just uses him as transportation. Only when they move back to the base together will any of this come to light, he swears it. “This is so nice, though, a little rest and relaxation with my favorite person in the whole world. What could be better than recharging like this?”

“Am I your favorite person?” Langris smiles, then quickly ducks his head, hiding it against Finral’s chest as if not ready to share that expression with him just yet.

“Of course you are. There’s not even any competition, you’re so much my favorite.” Finral stretches a hand out, giving one small ear a tap and laughing when Langris squeaks and jerks away from his hand. “Oh, someone has sensitive little ears, huh?”

This time, Finral feels the heat of that scowl. “Don’t play with my ears.”

“That’s just tempting me to play with them even more, you know.” Finral stretches out a hand and Langris smacks it away, burrowing down into his chest like that will hide his ears.

It kind of does, makes it a bit inconvenient. So Finral smiles and brushes a hand down Langris’s back, giving him that false sense of security as he looks down at his soft, fluffy hair. Then he curls his fingers into Langris’s side hard enough to make the boy squeak, laughing when Langris immediately twists away from him. Small limbs flail but Finral is faster than a tired little boy, rolling on top of him, pinning Langris underneath his body.

“Nii-san cheats!” Langris squeals, wriggling under him while Finral just braces himself on his knees and one hand, so he can tickle him with the other. “Stop, stop, it’s not fair!”

Finral laughs and watches his brother twist wildly under him, his little ribs always so sensitive and easy to bother. When they were children, doing this would have been frowned upon because it always made Langris feel bad. Now, Langris writhes and bucks with an energy Finral has never seen in him before, his face getting steadily redder as he laughs. Small hands slap at Finral’s chest, trying to push him off with no success.

He stops because he wants to stop, leaning down to plant a kiss on one rosy pink cheek. “Now I can tickle you as much as I want, so you’ll have to get tricker, won’t you?”

“You’re just mean.” Langris laughs through the insult and falls back against the mattress, his slender chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. “Just because you’re bigger than me… Remember how last time we did that, I couldn’t breathe at all? This is nice.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that about getting tickled.” Finral smoothes his hand down Langris’s side, feeling the muscles there jump under his fingers as his brother calms down.

Langris always relaxes under his touch when Finral pets him like this, his expression shifting into one of relaxation and fatigue, reminding Finral that Langris is tired and that was why they came back here in the first place. “I just like being able to play with you like I couldn’t when I was younger. It was nice just going out with you today.”

“Well, we can play as much as you want now that you’re feeling better.” Finral leans down to kiss his cheek again, letting it linger a little against his skin. “Does that sound good?”

“As long as I get to spend time with you, I don’t really care what we do.” Langris giggles a little when Finral kisses his cheek again, and maybe that tickles, too.

He leans back to look down at him, at Langris beneath him. The two of them have been wearing clothes provided by the fae, light and gauzy fabrics that are perfect for this time of year so that neither of them is too hot when the forest warms during the day. Langris looks impossibly beautiful in pale blues and greens, accentuating the vibrancy of his eyes, the soft pink of his lips, the way his cheeks are so prone to blushing and warming.

Finral wants to kiss him. To see if that soft little mouth will feel as divine against his own as it did in the dream. If Langris will be just as unpracticed and uncertain, but just as enthusiastic. He watched Langris all afternoon after Letra and Ratri kissed, wanting to see how Langris might react to such a thing, and yet the boy gave him nothing to work with.

No matter what he wants, Finral knows this is the one thing he cannot and should never have. Langris deserves better than that from him, deserves to be cherished. If Finral is all he has left, then Finral has to be perfect, because Langris deserves nothing less.

When he moves to roll off of him, Langris stops him, nuzzling against Finral’s throat, his soft mouth half-pressed against Finral’s skin. “Nii-san is so warm. I’m cozy.”

“I thought you wanted to eat before we took a nap.” Finral tries not to look anywhere that might be strange, be wrong, focusing his attention on the sheets beneath them.

“It’s so inconvenient for the food to be so far away when you’re right here.” Langris giggles against his skin and the vibrations are almost too much for Finral to handle.

He smoothes his hand back down Langris’s side once again, feeling the little body lean into his touch, the softening of muscles under his fingers, the warmth of Langris’s skin through his clothes. “You seem pretty warm to me. Maybe we need to bundle you up after dinner.”

Langris whines and Finral tries very, very hard not to think about the implications of that sound, or where else he might hear it. “You have to be bundled up with me, too, then.”

“Of course. Where else would I go?”  _ Where else is there for me, if not beside you? _

With that, Langris leans back enough that Finral can look down at him, and the mistake is there, the mistake is in looking down into those beautiful blue eyes. Langris is so beautiful, so sweet, his heavily-lidded eyes tempting Finral to lose his composure, and how much could just one kiss hurt? Just a peck. If he doesn’t like it, the two of them can never do it again, never even speak of it. Letra and Ratri would never force them to do it, right—

Finral is shocked from the reverie of his thoughts by the sensation of something warm and soft against his mouth. His eyes are open. If he was paying attention, he might have noticed where Langris’s eyes were, drifting down from his own to his lips. He might have noticed his brother getting up the courage to lean up and do what Finral was too afraid to.

Langris is kissing him. More or less just holding their mouths together, as if he has no idea what to do— And then he slowly moves his lips, maybe trying to mimic what he saw Letra and Ratri doing. Very slowly, very carefully, small hands braced on Finral’s chest.

And Finral should stop him, and tell him that what he saw the two fae doing is not what they have to do, that Langris never has to kiss anyone unless he loves them and wants to do it. Instead, his eyes flutter shut and he slips a hand up to cup the back of Langris’s head. Draws him just a little closer and shows him how to properly move his lips.

Time seems to stop at that moment. All Finral can focus on is Langris. Small fingers tangled up in his shirt, small lips pressed against his own timidly moving against his in search of the slow, easy rhythm Finral sets for them. He wants to keep kissing Langris as much as he dares to, maybe slip his tongue into his brother’s mouth to taste how sweet he is, how warm and wet inside. Trace the line of his teeth, make him shiver and whine.

For now, this is enough. For a boy who has never kissed anyone before, this is enough. Finral devotes himself to the task, holding Langris against him, keeping him covered and warm as he kisses him. Slowly letting each and every sliver of want and need in his body pour into that kiss in tiny increments so that Langris never has to worry about being unloved and unwanted ever again. Finral will always love him, always need him.

Only when the full gravity of the moment sets in does Finral lean back, his lips wet with saliva, his eyes wide as he looks down at Langris. At squeezed-shut eyes and flushed cheeks, half-fliching, as if preparing for rejection. “You don’t have to do this, Langris.”

“I know, nii-san.” The hands in his shirt twist tighter, Langris refusing to look up at him. “I want to. I wanted to for a long time, but I never… I never had the courage to.”

“You… What?” Finral cups his cheek, willing Langris to look at him, but the boy refuses. Rejection would be so hard on such a small, fragile heart. Maybe he just wants to be braced for it. “Are you doing this because of them, or because you want to?”

Langris immediately shakes his head. “Not… Not because of Letra and Ratri, no, they just made me think I should try. It’s nice, isn’t it? How much they love each other. I want that.”

“With me.” Finral feels… Untethered, lost, unanchored from the world around him as the thought takes root in his chest and wraps vines around his ribs.

Finally, Langris peels open his eyes, beautiful blue looking up at Finral, anxiously darting as if trying to examine his whole face carefully and all at once. “I love nii-san so much.”

Final should be the one who says no. Who stops this. The older brother, the one who knows how much this can be, how much harder this can make things. He should say no, because Langris deserves someone his age, someone who will share the same shy love, the same tender uncertainty. Instead, he throws caution aside and leans down to kiss his brother again, and the relieved noise Langris makes against his lips almost drives him to madness.

“I love you,” he whispers between kisses, swallowing up Langris’s little moans and whines, the way they prickle hot across his skin and leave him aching. “I love you, I love you, I love you so much. I’ll do anything for you, Langris, you mean the world to me.”

He wants this just as much, for maybe just as long, maybe longer.  _ Probably _ longer, but Langris slides his hands up to Finral’s shoulders and clings to him. And he struggles to keep up with the frenetic pace of Finral’s lips but he tries, meeting him kiss for kiss, soft and wet and so cute that every tiny gasp and whimper makes Finral burn to the core.

And he tumbles down into the sheets, kissing his brother breathless. Tethered, now, by the hands gripping his shoulders, by the soft lips hungrily meeting his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took 'em long enough


	16. Chapter 16

The night is cool, the air in the house chilly enough to encourage the two of them to cocoon themselves in the blankets to stay as warm as possible. Langris likes being this close to Finral, wrapped in the security and safety of his arms, certain that nothing outside of this shared space together can take him away. Though plenty of people have scoffed at his brother over the years, there is no one Langris trusts more than Finral.

He traces his fingers over Finral’s collarbone through the soft fabric of his shirt, trying to ignore the hot flush in his cheeks and how embarrassed he feels right now. All of this is new for him, his lips still tingling from his brother’s last kiss.

“How long?” The question leaves his lips unbidden, and he wants to take it back. Tuck it away down in his chest and keep it there, afraid of the answer. All of this is frightening.

Finral hums softly in answer, his hands splayed across Langris’s back, fingers pressing into his skin as he drops another soft, lazy kiss on Langris’s forehead. “Hard to say exactly. I don’t know when I stopped denying it to myself and finally saw it for what it was.”

“Was it for a long time?” Langris steals a glance up at Finral’s face, taking in his warm smile, his closed eyes, how… At peace he seems, as if he has finally let go of everything.

“For years,” Finral confirms, and the thought steals the breath from Langris’s lungs, trying to think back, to find some clue, but nothing comes to mind. Finral has always been indulgent with him, spoiling him rotten. “I only started seeing it for what it was not so long ago, and then I tried to hide it. I never imagined you could feel the same way.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’ve always been the most important person in my life.” More than their  _ parents, _ more than anyone else, Finral has always been there for him.

Finral slowly opens his eyes, sleepy violet making Langris’s chest flutter as he leans up to slowly, carefully, press a kiss to the corner of Finral’s mouth. “And you’re the most important person in mind. So smart, so talented, so beautiful. You stole my breath away.”

“Cheesy,” Langris protests, but his face burns as he settles back into Finral’s arms, into the warmth of their blanket nest. “I was sick all the time. I wasn’t beautiful.”

That earns him a scoff. “You were lovely. I thought about it every time I saw you.”

Considering how handsome Finral is and how many comments Langris has heard when people think no one is listening, he would know about something like that. Langris feels far less practice and he wants to question it, he does. Ask Finral exactly what about him caught his eye, but he keeps that to himself for now. Just grateful to bask in the warmth of his brother’s love and affection, not question it so much even though he wants to.

Maybe he needs to learn to stop questioning everything. Just because the Vaudes turned out the way they did does not mean Finral will ever use this to hurt him. Rather, Langris knows that Finral only held all of this back in order to protect him.

When he leans up again, Finral is there to meet him, layering another soft kiss onto his lips. It makes Langris’s hands spasm, makes his stomach feel weirdly warm, but not like when he was sick. Fluttery, but stronger than the occasional way he felt when he caught himself a little weak for his brother. More than that, and so much better.

“I’m thinking about it now,” Finral confesses, and Langris blushes and ducks his head a little, because so much of this feels like  _ too _ much. And also just what he wanted. “You look so cute right now, so embarrassed, and I don’t mean that in a mean way. It’s nice to see you all flustered, all shy. It makes me want to kiss you until you aren’t anymore.”

_ Oh. _ Langris squeezes his eyes shut, because all of this is simply too much for him. “Nii-san is going to make my face so hot that it catches on fire. That’s really unfair of you.”

“You’re so pretty, though.” Finral shifts, and Langris feels familiar fingers tracing the swirl above his eye, down onto his cheek. “The most beautiful boy I’ve ever laid eyes on. Sometimes you’d smile or laugh and I would just lose myself in it for a moment.”

Langris tries to remember a single instance in which he might have noticed it, but Finral has always given him so much attention when the two of them are together that it probably just seemed normal to him. That warmth, that fondness, that loving gaze that always made him feel warm inside, that could heal the fissures in his heart that always formed when Finral was gone for far too long. So Langris cannot put his finger on a single instance, but he can see a general pattern in the way Finral treats him.

“You have a nice face too,” Langris mumbles, and Finral laughs, low and husky.

“Do I? I don’t pay attention that much even if I should.” Finral scoots closer to him, the heat of his body alone promising that Langris will never be cold again as long as Finral is near. Those days of shivering pitifully under stacks of blankets until he wept are gone.

“Nii-san has… A kind face,” Langris says, struggling for the words to explain what he wants to say, what he has always understood to be true about Finral. “When you smile, it’s… Nice. Warm? It feels special when you smile at me. Like I know how much you care about me.”

“Oh, baby.” Finral’s voice is throaty, and Langris nestles in closer to him, finding Finral’s chest and pressing his face into it. Like this, he can hear Finral’s heartbeat, soothing and slow. “You’re so sweet, did you know that? It’s almost unfair how easy it is for you to take me apart just with simple words like that. When I know you’re not trying to do it.”

Take him apart? Langris cocks his head a little, then shrugs it off and burrows back into Finral’s chest, happy to stay right here in this moment. “I just wanted to tell you that.”

“I appreciate it. And I’m glad you can tell with just a glance that you’re loved.” Finral kisses his hair and then stays there, his face tucked against the top of Langris’s head, his entire body curled around Langris. Warmer and safer than the blankets feel.

He lets himself drift in the pleasant comfort for a while, not quite tired enough to sleep yet but teetering right on the edge of it. Belly full of sweet fruits and flowers, his lips still warm from Finral’s kisses, Langris has never felt like this in his life. Not just content but  _ happy, _ his heart settled in a way it never has been before. It makes him want to just revel in this moment for as long as he can, bask in the knowledge that he has the person who loves him most, the person he loves the most, right here with him.

And he might have lost this, but he didn’t. Because Finral never gave up on him.

Because Finral persevered and found not only a way for Langris to escape that awful household, but a place for him to heal safely. An end to the last nine years of pain.

“Nii-san?” Langris tilts his head back, and Finral blinks down at him languidly, the lazy flutter of his lashes making Langris’s stomach feel hot and funny again.

“What is it?” Finral yawns, and Langris pushes at his chest, trying to put some distance between them while Finral laughs and rolls onto his back. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, on the glowing mushrooms above their heads, so soft and beautiful. “Sorry. What do you need?”

Langris sighs and presses his face against his brother’s side, not sure he wants to go down this line of questioning and thought and knowing he has no choice in the matter. “What happens after the trial? Do I get to stay with you, or do I have to live somewhere else?”

“I think they’ll leave it up to you. At least I want to believe they will, that no one would push you into a living situation you didn’t agree with considering everything that’s happened.” Finral slips his arm around Langris’s back, drawing him closer, fingers tracing delicately along his spine once more. “And if they try to make a big deal about it, I can probably challenge them on the grounds that I’m a Vaude whether they like it or not.”

He is. Finral is the last Vaude technically, with Langris not even being human. “So are you going to be the head of House Vaude now? What will even happen with that?”

“Don’t know, to be honest. Don’t think I care, given I’d probably have to leave the Magic Knights to handle whatever duties they’d expect me to handle.” Finral shrugs as if the thought hardly matters to him, settling his hand on Langris’s hip.

It takes Langris a minute to find his cat plush in the blankets but he does, hugging her against his chest as he thinks over his brother’s words. “So if House Vaude doesn’t have an heir, does it just dissolve? I don’t know how it works. They never really told me.”

“Maybe. Probably. Ledior should have thought of that before putting my cute little brother through hell and back.” Finral looks down at him, and there is an intensity in his gaze, a burn that Langris has never seen in him before. “I want you to know that… If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. I would never make you talk about anything you went through against your will. But if you ever want to tell me anything, you can.”

“I think there’s one thing I want to tell you.” Because at the very least, Langris wants him to know about one thing. Just this one thing, if this one thing is all he can manage.

Finral sits up slowly, his muscles clearly lax and unwilling to move, but he pushes himself upright and pats his lap, gesturing for Langris to come sit with him. And that is hardly an offer Langris is going to refuse, eagerly clambering into Finral’s arms like a little boy again. This is familiar; he can remember being very small and sitting in his big brother’s lap, especially after Finral left for the Magic Knights when Langris was seven years old.

Liliane told him he was too big for that, but Finral would always pat his lap when she had her back turned, encouraging Langris to scramble up to be held and petted and kissed. Even then, he refused to let anyone take their relationship away from them.

Most people will never have a brother as good as Finral is, and Langris cherishes him more than words can say. He loves him  _ so _ much and so he throws his arms around Finral’s neck, leaning up to kiss him again. That he can just do this now feels so bizarre to him, especially when he had pushed his feelings down so much he no longer recognized them.

He wonders if most people his age get to kiss their first crush, or if he might be lucky.

“Mm, it’s better every single time.” Finral whispers the words directly against his mouth and Langris closes his eyes, shivering at the tone of his voice. “If you just wanted to curl up in my lap and kiss, we can do that too, I’m game. But I’ll listen if you need to talk.”

Langris nods, looking up into Finral’s eyes, knowing he has to trust his brother with this because Finral is the only person who could ever really understand what he went through. “It’s hard to talk about, I think, because… It hurt a lot. And it hurts more now because I know they didn’t really care about me. I… Still can’t believe they were poisoning me.”

The arms around him tighten, drawing him in closer to Finral’s chest, and Langris allows himself to be coddled because he needs it right now. “I’m still so sorry I never did or said anything before I did. I could have saved you so much of that pain and anguish.”

“But I don’t blame you for that. I was the one they were hurting, and even I didn’t… Didn’t think…” Langris shakes his head. It’s a lot to take in. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

“You were a  _ baby, _ Langris, of course you didn’t think they were going to hurt you. You’re still a baby as far as I’m concerned.” Finral hugs him tighter and Langris presses himself into his brother’s embrace, needing the comfort and the reassurance. He feels so lost and confused about what their parents did to him, about how much they tried to hurt him.

No. Not their parents. Ledior and Liliane Vaude. He needs to stop thinking of them as his parents, because… No one who loved their child would ever do something like that.

He looks up at Finral, setting his jaw as firmly as he can, trying to be stern even though he knows Finral will still see him as he is, see him as a child. “But I don’t  _ blame _ you for what they did. You didn’t know what they were doing. You didn’t know I was a fae.”

“If only I had. I could have saved you.” Finral’s lips brush against his forehead and Langris’s eyes flutter shut against his will, a soft whine leaning his throat as he leans into the kiss. “I’ll stop arguing with you, though, you wanted to tell me something.”

Yes. He did. Langris’s hands drop down into his lap, fiddling with the soft thin fabric of his sleep shirt before he reaches for his cat to hold her instead. “You used to bring me flowers all the time, and I told you to stop doing that. Do you remember that, nii-san?”

The arms around him tighten, drawing him ever closer to his brother’s chest, and the clear displeasure in Finral’s eyes would be difficult to miss even on a good day. Yes, he most certainly does remember, and Langris bringing it up like this was maybe not the right thing to do. Maybe he should have waited until after the trial, when they no longer had to worry about the Vaudes anymore. When only the dark cloud of memories will last to haunt him, and he knows he can chase that cloud away with Finral’s light.

Finral’s lips touch his temple briefly, his hands splaying across Langris’s back. “I remember that. You were eating them, weren’t you? Your body must have been so desperate for food that it got through the haze of the glamour. I’m proud of you for protecting yourself.”

“I was hungry. Everything tasted bad and I never kept any of it down.” Langris does not like walking along this path of memory, especially when here in the forest, he is never hungry. William plies him with food often to make sure he gets better. “But flowers tasted good, and they were easy to find. Around the house. In the garden. And you brought me some, every time you came to visit. I’d wait until you left and eat them.”

“Well, I’m always glad to know I helped in some small ways.” Finral folds Langris in tighter against him, tucking his chin down against the top of Langris’s head. It feels nice to be held like this, safe and protected. “Charmy can make anything you want with her sheep chefs, and we can grow fruit trees or something. Whatever you want.”

_ Fruit trees. _ Langris wonders if it would be selfish to ask for cherry trees, his favorite fruit  _ and _ one of the most delicious flowers. “Mo— Liliane caught me eating them one day.”

“The flowers?” Finral’s voice is low and soft, as if even asking this question is taking a lot out of him, but Langris nods and tightens his grip on his cat. He has to be careful not to damage her, because he loves her so much. “I can’t imagine that went over well.”

Langris eases up on his cat and strokes her gently between the ears, reminding himself this is all in the past now, and the Vaudes can never hurt him again. “Right. She was angry at me. I was already… Abnormal to them, you know, for how I was.”

“Did they call you that? Abnormal?” Finral tenses, then makes a choked sound when Langris just nods against him. “I should have just kidnapped you and risked the imprisonment.”

“But it was better that you didn’t because now we can just be together and nothing can pull us apart anymore.” Langris frees up a hand to wrap his fingers in the collar of Finral’s shirt. He just needs him to understand none of this has ever been his fault.

And now just because Langris would never blame him for anything. Because he tried his best to help, and no one important enough would have believed him anyway. The black sheep, the outcast of the Vaude family. Most people  _ laughed _ at him instead.

But not Langris. Never Langris. Instead, he twists around so he can kiss his brother on the jaw, the best he can reach with Finral leaning over him like this. “And besides, you helped a lot. I kept hiding away all the snacks you brought me so I could eat them a little bit at a time. I don’t know, but maybe I wouldn’t have lasted this long if it wasn’t for you.”

“I’m glad you did. I’m glad because it means I get to take care of you forever now and give you good memories to replace all the bad ones.” Finral finally uncurls from around him, leaning back into the pillows, and his expression is… Calm and relaxed once again. “I’m sorry I interrupted your story, though, sweetheart. That was wrong of me. If you want to keep telling me, you can keep telling me. If you’re satisfied you’ve said enough, you can stop.”

Langris could stop now… But he wants to let it out. To get it off of his chest and out of his system a little at a time, because he needs that release. “No, I… I want to finish.”

“All right.” Finral shifts again, body sliding down the mattress so that he’s reclined further against the pillows, leaving Langris perched on his lap. His hands slide down to rest on Langris’s hips and something about that makes Langris shiver a little, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I’m listening. Go ahead and tell me, baby.”

Langris nods, running his fingers through his cat’s fur once again as he takes a slow, deep breath. “I… I was in my room. You’d just left not long ago so I was eating some of the flowers you brought me. The really small purple ones, I always liked the taste of them.”

“They were always your favorites,” Finral agrees, and Langris nods. They were. They made him think of Finral’s eyes. “When we leave the forest, I’ll get you some more.”

“And cherries,” Langris insists, and Finral only smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling softly as he rubs his thumbs in easy circles over Langris’s hips. “So, I was… I was just eating them, I hadn’t really eaten anything that day. When you came over, it was easier to skimp on meals. Because it was like they were afraid to say something.”

Finral nods slowly, expression slipping from warmth into something thoughtful. “Maybe they thought being too overly aggressive with what you should eat would piss me off.”

“Maybe. Probably.” Langris shrugs. It doesn’t matter now, or well, it might. At the trial. But not  _ now, _ in this moment the two of them are sharing. “So Mo— Liliane walked into the room. She was coming to get me because I was supposed to be training, you know, they used to complain about you coming over a lot. Because I could get away with not eating and not training as much, because all I wanted to do was spend time with you.”

He’s rambling and he knows it, afraid to get to the point of the story, to relive the pain of it once again with the context of why it truly happened. That makes it all real in a way it wasn’t before, makes it  _ harm _ instead of  _ protection. _ Langris could have explained it away the rest of his life as the Vaudes trying to do what was best for him even if it hurt him, even if it was difficult for him, but now he knows the truth.

They were torturing him, knowing full well what it would end up doing to him.

Finral’s hand touches his face, cupping his cheek with a warm, rough palm. “Langris—”

“So she walks in without knocking, and I didn’t have time to hide what I was doing. So she caught me.” Just get it out, and everything will be better. Bleed out the infection like lancing a wound so he can heal inside and out. “She asked me what I was doing, but her voice was already getting louder. I knew she was mad. And she took the flowers away.”

Finral nods slowly, and Langris can just tell he’s having to put effort into controlling his expression, from getting overtly angry. “Did she… Call you names while she did that?”

“She asked me why I couldn’t just be normal.” Langris hugs his cat tight to his chest. He can still hear the spitting, venomous tone of her voice as she ripped the flowers out of his hands, the flushed-angry color of her cheeks. He remembers  _ everything _ she said.

Liliane Vaude was supposed to be his mother. Why keep him if she didn’t even want him?

“You know you are normal, right?” Finral tugs him down and Langris lets himself spill across his brother’s chest, the warmth and strength of it beneath him better than the mattress was. “You are perfectly normal in every way. You’re a beautiful little fae and you’re meant to have all the sweet things you want, and all the flowers too.”

Langris turns his head, resting his cheek over where he can feel his brother’s heart beating. “I know that now. But I didn’t know it then, and it… It hurt so much. I cried.”

“I’m so sorry, Langris. Come here.” Finral’s arms wrap tight around him and Langris closes his eyes, ignoring the sting of tears because he is not going to cry. Not now. He might at the trial, but this… There is no reason to cry now. Finral is here with him. “No one is ever going to talk to you like that again. I won’t allow for it, and you don’t deserve it.”

“Nii-san always keeps me safe.” Langris presses his cheek down against Finral’s chest, wondering what he would do without Finral. Knowing he wouldn’t even be alive.

Finral orchestrated his rescue. Finral carried him to safety. Finral looked down at his face, at the obvious signs of who and what Langris was, and accepted him despite all of that anyway. No one has ever loved him more than his brother and Langris knows no one else ever will, and he’s more than fine with this. Because Finral loves him so much that Langris doesn’t think he needs anyone else, as long as he has Finral by his side.

“Your team probably misses you because you’ve been here so long,” Langris murmurs, and Finral hums as he gives Langris’s back a gentle pat. “Do you think I can stay with you there, really? Like they won’t care? They probably don’t want a little kid bothering them.”

“Of course you can stay with me. Everyone is going to be thrilled to have you there.” Finral’s lips touch the top of his head, and Langris knows he just has to trust him.

He squeaks when he’s rolled over onto his back, Finral on top of him, braced on just one forearm while he runs the other hand through Langris’s hair. He isn’t prepared for another kiss and it takes the breath from his lungs, his fingers gripping his cat all the tighter while Finral kisses him slowly, sweetly, and so thoroughly that Langris can’t do anything but whimper against his mouth. All of this is so much for him but he’s glad he took the chance to kiss Finral, glad because of the way Finral has loved him for so, so long.

And now he can do this, lay beneath his brother, his lips so warm from Finral’s soft kisses, his head spinning a little from how perfect this all feels. They have to go back to the real world soon, and Langris knows that. And he knows it will hurt. But right now, all he has to do is follow the movement of his brother’s lips and focus on Finral.

A soft gasp leaves his mouth when something wet brushes against his bottom lip, but Finral is still slow with him. Giving him time to process before it happens again. A little lick against his lips, the tip of his tongue brushing so delicately that it makes Langris’s skin hot and prickly. Another lick along the seam of his mouth, as if trying to get him to open it. And he does, because this is all new to him but he trusts Finral to take care of him.

He isn’t expecting this, either, the way Finral’s tongue presses into his mouth, behind his teeth. A slow, explorative lick before he’s being kissed again, open-mouthed kisses that are hotter and wetter. Sweet, too, because Finral tastes like fruit and Langris tries to do it back. Focuses on where Finral’s lips are moving before he licks the lower one. Small, kittenish, silently asking if he can return the favor. Maybe Finral won’t like that—

Oh,  _ oh! _ Langris shudders under him when Finral’s tongue meets his own, curling warm and wet around his, coaxing him to keep going. His head swims as they kiss, something almost frantic in their lips now, and when Finral licks into his mouth again, Langris is there to meet him. Shivering under him, his entire body feeling like it’s on fire, like he has a fever.

He’s gasping when Finral finally leans away from him, and even his brother looks affected by the kiss. Finral’s face is flushed rosy red and his eyes are half-closed and dazed, spit glistening on his lips for a moment before he wipes it away with his sleeve. All Langris can do is try to get his breath back, his lips hot and feeling almost tender.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just pushed you into that.” Finral’s head darts down, a soft kiss against Langris’s cheek like an apology. “I have to remember to take it slowly with you.”

Langris shakes his head, grabbing for Finral’s shirt with one hand. “I liked that a lot.”

“You look like you did, you know.” Finral cups his cheek again and Langris leans into it, turning his head to kiss Finral’s palm. “There’s more ways to kiss someone, you know. I’m aware that Ledior and Liliane weren’t terribly affectionate in front of us, so I’m not even sure how much experience you have with what intimacy can truly be.”

“Then you can show me. I know nii-san wouldn’t ever hurt me, so I trust you.” And he does, freeing up an arm to wrap it around Finral’s neck, pulling him down so he can peck him on the lips. Anything more intense right now and he won’t be able to breathe at all.

Finral laughs softly and then he kisses Langris on the cheek, on the jaw, up under his chin until Langris shivers. Every brush of Finral’s lips against his skin is so soft, so gentle, and Langris… Will struggle getting used to this, he thinks. Finral has always been kind to him, always taken care of him, but getting to experience it every day is new.

“Your pulse is beating so fast.” Finral kisses over that spot too, further back under his chin, and Langris blushes furiously at the words. “Excitable little thing, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help it.” The words come out in a whine and Finral laughs, then kisses the spot again a little more firmly before his lips trail ever lower again.

Something in his belly jumps when Finral kisses his throat, his eyes fluttering shut as a small noise slips past his lips. It makes him feel funny when Finral kisses him there and he whines again, softly, his head falling back a little as Finral’s lips trace a path all the way down to the collar of his shirt. He stops there, but Langris’s heart collides fiercely with his rib cage at the prospect of Finral going any further than this.

Then his brother leans back, a shy smile on his lips. “I feel strange, having you pinned down, kissing you like this while you’re cuddling your kitty cat.”

Langris smacks him on the shoulder and Finral laughs. “Well… I liked it. A lot.”

“Good to know. Maybe we’ll do more once we’re back home.  _ My _ home.” Finral pecks him on the nose, then on the lips once more. “For now, it’s late. We shouldn’t even be up. You need to get plenty of sleep, and then we’ll go exploring more in the morning.”

There’s no reason to argue with him, so Langris just nods, happy to get to curl into Finral’s arms as soon as his brother lays down. Here, right there, with Finral, Langris feels safer than he ever has before, happier than he thought he would ever deserve to be.

No matter what happens, Langris is not going to let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's going to be so long before i get to make that explicit tag meaningful...


	17. Chapter 17

“The two of us will be escorting you to the Capital.” Letra sits in the center of the neatly made bed, legs folded beneath him and elbows resting on his knees. He looks almost relaxed if not for the sharp glint of  _ knowing _ in his eyes as he watches Finral assist Langris with the clothing dropped off for the two of them a few days ago. “Should any danger come to the two of you, I have instructions to bring you immediately back to the forest.”

“Since when were you allowed to kidnap  _ me? _ ” The question is a joke, or at least Finral means it as one as he combs his fingers through Langris’s hair to tame the ruffled strands.

His question is met with a snicker. “Shouldn’t you know the answer to that one, Finral? Langris  _ chose _ you, and that means you have the protection of the fae.”

_ Chose? _ Finral pretends not to even consider the weight of that word, instead brushing his thumb over the pink swirl on his brother’s cheek before smiling down at him. “Well, whatever, I suppose that is a reassurance worth having. I still can’t just use my own spell?”

“Licht would really prefer for it to be onii-chan who brings you back if anything goes wrong,” Ratri chirps, perched on the windowsill across the room. Sunlight filters through the magnificent expanse of his wings, casting the entire room in a bluish glow.

“Is there a reason why?” Langris has been quiet this morning, letting Finral fuss over him and help him dress as if he still lacks the strength to take care of himself. “Nii-san’s spatial magic works almost the same way. He would be able to get us back here.”

Letra shrugs a shoulder, tapping the tips of long pale fingers against the edge of his jaw. “What the king says, the king gets. Besides, my magic extends into the forest itself. Yours would stop at the forest’s edge, unhelpful if I need to get you immediately to safety.”

“And why would that happen? I’ve been inside the forest. I should at least be able to get to the roots of Yggdrasil.” Finral leans back to look at Langris, now dressed in clothing more typical of… Humans, he supposes. The two of them have been wearing the loose, flowy layers the fae prefer, but Nacht had brought them proper clothing in advance.

Tucked amongst the packaging was a new cape, the soft black fabric standing out against the other brighter colors, the gold trim catching Finral’s eye. He thought it was for him, as if they thought his cape might have been confiscated or damaged within the forest.

Now, he swings the cape so small it was obviously meant for Langris on over his brother’s head, careful of his ears. It fits his shoulders perfectly, resting just as it should, which makes him think Vanessa must have paid careful attention when she dressed him. The sight is premature— Langris does not have his grimoire and surely cannot be recognized as a Magic Knight just yet— but it knocks the oxygen from Finral’s lungs just the same.

This is how life is going to be for the two of them when all of this is over, brothers in arms in the same Magic Knight squad because Yami clearly already made his choice.

Langris touches his fingers to the gold trim, then peeks up at Finral with uncertain eyes. “This is… This is good, right? This means your squad really does want me?”

“Of course they do. Why wouldn’t they?” Finral holds his arms out and Langris immediately steps into them, resting his head on Finral’s shoulder, small hands clinging to him.

“To answer your question,” Letra says, the hint of amusement in his voice making Finral scowl at him over his shoulder, “we have trap magic seals around the edge of the forest set to activate should anyone else try to enter without permission, and only certain fae have permission to bring humans into the forest. This was why we came to meet you.”

That… Makes sense, now that Finral thinks about it. Rill should have been able to walk them inside, but most likely he did not have the permission necessary to do so. That kind of trap magic sounds interesting, maybe Finral will mention it to Zora and get more details on how it works later on. For now he just accepts it. He has more things to worry about and think about today than how the fae magic in the forest works at its full capacity.

Finral gives Langris one final squeeze and then stands, offering his little brother his hand and unsurprised when Langris grasps it tightly. “Well, we shouldn’t keep everyone waiting. We said we were ready to handle this today, and I suppose that means we have to be.”

Ratri hops off of the windowsill and pads over to the two of them, though his gaze is fixed entirely on Langris. “It’ll be okay, you know. Damnatio will get the justice you deserve, and you’ll be able to come back here safely whenever you need to. We can promise that.”

“I know.” Langris ducks his head, and he just looks so  _ tired _ suddenly. “I’m just worried.”

“I won’t let either of them hurt you. Not now. Not ever again.” Finral squeezes his hand, and there must be something in his voice, because even Letra glances at him with a raised brow. But the older fae is also smirking, and Finral  _ really _ wants to say something to him.

Langris presses against his side, and Finral drops his hand so he can tuck his arm around his brother’s shoulders instead, drawing him as close as possible. “I know. I believe you.”

That is almost better than anything else he could have said, and certainly Finral can think of nothing that soothes him as much as those simple words. He leans down to press a kiss against the top of soft brown hair and the way Letra’s smirk widens makes him glare in response, which only serves to make the fae laugh, loud and infectious. Even Ratri giggles, but he seems more focused on Langris, wrapping his arms around one of Langris’s, pressing up against his side. The two of them have gotten along ever since they first met.

Finral vaguely wonders if they are, in fact, actually related. “Want to grab your cat? We can leave it with the vice captain if you want. He and Yami-san are meeting us.”

“I… Okay.” Langris nods, and Finral retrieves it from the table on the far side of the room for him, watching him cling to the soft furry thing. He needs reassurance right now.

Despite putting on the bravest face he can manage, Finral understands precisely why his brother needs this. Finral is going there as a witness, to have his childhood memories probed, because most of the abuse occurred without him there to witness it. Likely to also have his memories probed to prove that he was not a part of it, because otherwise Langris would not be safe with him. He is confident enough that will go well, because Marx Francois’s power is absolute, and the court relies on him constantly for that ability.

But it also means Langris’s pain and anguish will be paraded in front of strangers. That he will have to relieve everything that happened to him under that roof, years of suffering that Finral wished he would have ended long ago. All he can do now is stand by his brother’s side in support and hope that this will be enough to ensure Langris is finally free, can recover and heal inside and out. And Finral will be there for him every step of the way.

“It’s going to be okay,” Ratri tells him, his small hands framing Langris’s small face until aquamarine meets deep, deep blue. “One bad day and then all of it is going to be over.”

_ One bad day, _ Finral thinks,  _ that’s going to trot out years of bad days. _

But Langris nods and small lips quirk up into an almost-hopeful smile. “You’re right. And then I can be with nii-san, and no one’s ever going to hurt me like that again.”

“I wouldn’t allow it,” Finral says, and Langris leans into him, looking up at him from under a spray of soft lashes. The expression makes his stomach feel hot, just like it has every single night he’s fallen asleep kissing Langris breathless. “Well, better to just get it over with, I think. And like I said, Yami-san and Nacht are waiting for us. We’ll be safe.”

“I can finally meet them properly. You’ve only gotten to tell me about them before.” Langris’s smile is softer, now shy, and Finral grins down at him. “I don’t really remember anything from you taking me there to get me dressed and Rill-san healed first.”

Better that he doesn’t remember, then, because Rill has no scars from what happened and so Langris will never know just how much of his leg was wrapped in picture magic. “That’s true. Let’s not waste any time then. You’ll be spending a lot of time in their company.”

Letra and Ratri fly them down to the roots of Yggdrasil, and some fae wave at them as they follow the brothers through the forest. William and Patolli cannot be here to see them off because William is busying himself with a longtime patient and Patolli has his own responsibilities to handle as they all await what will happen to Ledior and Liliane Vaude. There have been no situations like this for years now, as far as Finral has been told. The fae children given to humans are either brought back and exchanged or never come back.

They certainly do not come back on death’s doorstep like Langris did.

The walk is a long one, so Finral offers to let Langris ride on his back, comforted by his brother’s weight as he follows Letra and Ratri through the trees. All of them are huge and ancient and beautiful, but the amount of fae thin out the closer they get to the edge of the forest. Very few of them dare to live this far out. Everyone behind the treeline is safe, but most of them seem to have some aversion to living out here.

They leave the forest the same way they came in, through the same exit, stepping carefully over twisted roots to where Yami and Nacht are waiting with Fana.

The fae woman looks at them as soon as they step into the sunlight, but even Finral can tell her eyes gravitate immediately toward Langris. “Time for you to leave us, little one?”

“I’ll come back to visit,” Langris says, and Finral nods his assent because these are Langris’s people, and he deserves to get to know them. All of the fae seem to be close with one another, knowing each other’s names. Keeping him away would be bad. “Soon, too.”

“Don’t worry about that. Just concentrate on healing properly and having a happy life now.” Fana steps closer to them, her hand rising, and Finral tilts his head to watch her cup his brother’s cheek. Her smile warms, almost as bright as the sun overhead. “I hope you find some respite after all of this is through. You more than anyone deserve that.”

Langris blushes and Fana merely laughs, leaning up on her toes to kiss his forehead before her attention turns to Finral. “You’ve come this far with him. Assuming they find nothing against you at the trial, I assume little Langris will be staying with you from now on.”

“That’s the plan, as long as it’s allowed. I’m going to take care of him now.” Like he should have this entire time. Like he’s going to, to make up for years of letting him languish.

“Then do it properly, with few mistakes.” Fana touches him on the cheek, and Finral feels that familiar, strange warmth creep under his skin, soothing some of the tension in his body before Fana slips around him, disappearing back into the trees.

“Fana is so eccentric sometimes,” Ratri murmurs, and Letra only nods, his arm wrapped around his little brother’s shoulders, fingers combing through Ratri’s hair.

“The older fae are like that,” he murmurs, and Finral wonders what  _ older _ even counts as, because Fana looks young to him. Younger  _ than _ him, if he’s being honest with himself.

But he is distracted from the fae entirely by the sight of two long-familiar faces waiting for him, Yami sitting in the grass with a cigarette and Nacht standing at his side. The day is a warmer one, so he must be uncomfortable in the layers of black and grey he favors, and yet he still wears all of them. His eyes are as sharp as ever, and something in them makes Finral feel at ease in the typical way he does around Nacht. Like there is just something about the man that sets him apart from everyone else Finral knows.

Yami finishes his cigarette and the butt disappears into a shadow that Nacht extends from beneath his feet. “Been awhile since we’ve seen you, Finral. How you been?”

“Perfectly fine. The fae are good people. They took care of me, and Langris, too.” Finral stretches a hand up to touch where Langris’s hands are clasped over his shirt, encountering the soft fur of his stuffed cat in the process. “How’s the kingdom been?”

Nacht smiles that familiar smile that never quite reaches his eyes, his gaze turning toward the distance, though Finral cannot see anything from here. “Horrible. There were Magic Knights at House Vaude less than one hour after you returned home. News of what they did swept the kingdom. The very limited faith people had in the nobility has been shaken.”

That sounds about right, though Finral was hardly thinking about it that much when he had Langris to worry about. “Then the trial is… Probably going to make things worse.”

“So be it. What needs to be done will be done.” Nacht turns back to him, though again, Finral can tell when his eyes move to Langris instead. “He looks much better now than he did the last time I saw him. I presume he must be healthy now.”

“Yes, Nacht-san,” Langris says, and Nacht’s eyes widen just a fraction. Maybe he didn’t expect to be addressed directly. Difficult to tell with someone like him.

“Good to hear. Everyone was worried about you getting better, squirt.” Yami heaves himself to his feet, all towering muscle, and walks close enough to ruffle Langris’s hair. Hard enough that even Finral feels it. “So you’re the special one with the offensive spatial magic. Don’t think I can take you on missions yet, but we can work on training you.”

Finral lets Langris down off of his back when his brother squirms down, watching as he walks around to stand in front of Yami properly. He has to crane his neck back so far to look up at him, because Langris is small and Yami is a giant. “I’ll work really hard, Sir.”

“Don’t worry about working really hard, worry about feeling better first.” Yami drops a huge hand on top of Langris’s head, a rough pat that Finral recognizes.

At least Yami likes him. Finral had a lot of reason to worry that he might not.

“Spatial magic is very useful,” Nacht says, stepping closer to Langris, looking down at him with an expression that Finral can never read. Everything about Nacht is so closed off, so kept close to his heart. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing what you can do with it.”

“I can show you any time you want,” Langris says, and for just a moment, Nacht’s eyes warm with his smile. Then back to cold and closed off, like always.

“We’ll concern ourselves with an introduction to your magic after you’ve had time to settle in at our base.” Nacht lifts his head, and his eyes pierce Finral straight through, stripping away the outer layers of him as if peering into his very soul. “I trust that you’ll watch over him while he stays with us. Without a grimoire, he could be in very real danger should any of it follow us home. I expect to see you reach new heights, Finral Roulcase.”

Yami lights himself another cigarette, blue smoke curling up from its glowing tip. “Surpass your limits like always and everything should be just fine.”

Nacht’s smile twitches out of place for just a moment. “I really do hate that phrase.”

Letra clears his throat. “Not to interrupt this ah, shining family moment, but I don’t want to keep everyone waiting all day. Most of them want to know how Clover is going to handle this situation publicly given the nature of what happened to Langris.”

“Of course. We shouldn’t keep you from the forest too long.” Nacht’s mana, dark and smooth as the still surface of a frozen lake, flares in the air around all of them as shadows spread from beneath his boots. “The fastest travel will be mine because I know precisely where we are going, and it prevents us from being stared at by anyone waiting outside the Magic Parliament Courthouse. And believe me, there are plenty of people waiting.”

Finral winces. He knew it would be a big deal for his parents to be arrested, and there would be no avoiding it when the chairman of the Magic Parliament is a fae himself. “Works for me, better than having to use my spatial magic. I’ve never been inside before.”

“We got dragged there by Julius to talk to Damnatio in person right after you lot left.” Yami rolls his eyes, taking another drag off of his cigarette. “Things should go fine. He’s pissed as all fuck about it, and I don’t see the others not taking his side.”

“Not a very impartial body, is it?” Letra murmurs, though he doesn’t seem fazed at all.

Nacht shakes his head slowly, and the coldness in his smile intensifies. “Not in the least, and it never will be at the rate Clover Kingdom is run. But this time, that works in our favor. Now, let’s be going. I’m sure they’re all prepared to hear this case.”

Traveling through Nacht’s shadow magic is much the same as traveling through any other type of magic, except for the moment of sheer darkness around them that has Finral grasping for Langris’s hand to reassure him. Nacht is a powerful mage despite how little anyone seems to know about him; Finral has asked, of course, because he was curious. Nacht was on no one’s radar until Yami brought him to the Wizard King one day, introducing him as the new official vice captain of the Black Bulls.

Probably a foreigner, like Yami, in that regard. Yami tends to pick people like that.

The Magic Parliament is just as grandiose as any other building in Clover that services the nobles and royals, and Finral pays very little attention to the details. He keeps Langris’s hand tight in his own instead, watching as Langris turns to offer Ratri his cat to hold onto for him. Time to be strong in the face of this trial, to finally put an end to everything.

If Ledior and Liliane are found guilty, the likely result will be execution.

A familiar pair are waiting for them in front of a set of doors that must lead into the main chamber. Finral would recognize the Wizard King and his primary advisor anywhere, and though it should reassure him that the two are here, it only makes him nervous.

He knows, of course, as everyone else does that a fae was chosen to serve as advisor. It was a move that made many Magic Knights uncomfortable, more than they already were to have a fae within the Magic Knights to begin with. Marx entering the Magic Knights was a few years before Finral’s exam and so he only remembers hearing the rumors more than anything else, the concern that allowing a fae to enter might be dangerous. Their mana is powerful, yes, but old childhood stories are hard to let go of when based in some truth.

Whether fae are truly evil or not hardly matters. As long as they exist, and as long as the prince once disappeared and never came back, the stories will persist.

So Finral has seen this fae before but now properly looks at him, at the branch-like magenta lines on his cheeks, at the soft shimmer of the massive golden wings that glitter softly in the light. They provide a sharp contrast to his soft cloud blue hair but match his eyes almost perfectly, as all fae wings seem to do, and his point-tipped ears peek just into view. Different enough to warrant unnecessary fear in so many people.

If the Wizard King himself can trust a fae, then maybe the people need to do better.

Julius Novachrono has a warm smile for all of them, though his eyes immediately widen when he notices Letra and Ratri trailing behind the rest of them. “Oh, you brought fae with you! I haven’t met fae directly from the forest before. How fascinating.”

“You can bother them after the trial,” Marx Francois says shortly, tone as clipped as ever though the dark circles under his eyes tell Finral he must have been working too much.

“If you don’t mind,” Julius says, and Letra only cocks his head at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Stop scaring off every new person you run into that interests you,” Yami mutters, and Julius openly pouts at him, his eyes still sparkling with intrigue. “I apologize for the old man, he’s interested in everything. You can just ignore him and go home if you want to.”

Ratri steps around the rest of their group, fae dust glittering softly as it drifts down from his wings to the floor below. He ignores Julius entirely, stepping up in front of Marx instead. “I’ve only heard of you back home. You’ve never come to visit the forest.”

“I don’t,” Marx agrees, and there is something… Soft in his eyes when he glances at Julius next to him. “I have everything I need in this world, so yours doesn’t interest me.”

“You know you’re welcome to at least come visit. We can’t help but worry about all the fae who never come to let us know if they’re healthy or not.” Ratri smiles hopefully up at him, taking one of Marx’s hand in his, and Finral wonders if he’s worried. He has a right to be, after seeing what condition Langris was in. “You look like you could use a rest.”

Marx laughs softly and leans down, patting Ratri gently on the cheek. “Don’t worry about me, little one, I’m doing just fine. It’s just been stressful the last few days.”

The automatic sweetness of the conversation makes something in Finral’s stomach sour as he strokes his thumb across Langris’s small knuckles. Maybe the fae are just a different breed, taught to recognize and accept their own without question, but it makes him feel all the worse for Langris. Stuck with parents who never loved him, with a brother who should have done better for him. And the fae loved him and wanted him immediately.

If Finral was not in the picture, maybe Langris would go back to them and stay there.

“Ratri just cares too much,” Letra says, easing around them to wrap an arm around his little brother’s shoulders. “I’d heard there was a fae who advised the Wizard King, but I didn’t know if I believed that without seeing it. Now, I guess I do.”

Marx straightens up, his eyes doing a quick up-down sweeping motion before he smiles politely at Letra. “I’ve been Julius-sama’s advisor since he took the position.”

“What kind of magic do you two have?” Julius asks, and Finral really struggles not to roll his eyes and the now-familiar question. “Fae have such incredible mana, I can’t—”

“ _ Later, _ ” Marx insists, shooting him a look that has the man deflating despite the obvious difference in their power and status alone. “Damnatio would like to have this done and over with as soon as possible so he can wash his hands of the Vaudes, and you know that. Do you really want to drag this out and make him wait any longer than he already has?”

Something in his tone shifts when he mentions Damnatio Kira, though Finral hardly knows him well enough to know what it is. Nevertheless, Julius sighs. “No, you’re right. He’s been through enough the past few weeks without us making it even worse on him.”

Langris flinches slightly, looking up at Finral with concerned eyes. “Last few weeks?”

“We stayed as long as we needed to stay. I don’t regret that.” No matter how turbulent Clover has been in the wake of House Vaude’s disgusting behavior, what was most important was ensuring Langris would be better. Finral smiles at him, gently brushing his fingers through his brother’s hair. “If you needed to stay longer, we would have.”

“Damnatio wouldn’t have been happy if you came back ill just for a court case,” Marx says, and Langris nods, though the slight guilt in his eyes does not quite dissipate.

When all of this is said and done, Finral is going to smother him in hugs and kisses. Tuck him down into his own bed covers and keep him safe and warm, reassure him that they would have done anything and everything for him. The Black Bulls chose Langris’s side when they chose to support Finral, and finding out that the Vaudes were doing something so abhorrent was a good thing. It means it could be stopped, and Langris could be saved.

Yami inhales, the sound drawing Finral’s attention to his captain, to the curls of blue smoke he exhales into the air. “Didn’t realize you were working so closely with that Kira guy.”

“It was kind of necessary given the situation,” Marx says, and that  _ something _ in his voice again does not go unmissed by Finral. Do they not get along, perhaps? “We would have nothing to do with it except the Black Bulls got involved. We saved you the trouble.”

Nacht chuckles, the sound without humor. “How unfortunate, when Damnatio Kira is such a  _ charming _ man to work with. Don’t hog all of that attention to yourself, next time.”

“He’s just been a bit stressed by recent events, you know, it’s not like he’s been difficult to work with,” Julius insists, and again, Finral notices something. The way Marx glances at him, a quick shift of the eyes, before looking away entirely. The two fae must not get along well, then. “It’s his responsibility to handle justice, of course, but this hits a bit closer to home involving a fae child and all. I’m sure he heard his fair share of complaints as a child.”

Marx gives his head a little shake. “Well, as I said, let’s not draw it out any further than we already have. The sooner we can finish this, the better off everyone will be.”

Finral looks down at Langris, touching his hair again to get his brother’s attention. “Are you ready for this? As soon as it’s over, we’re going straight home to rest for the day.”

“No, but I have to do it. I’m the only one who can.” Langris takes a slow, deep breath and then tries for a smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes and it trembles on his lips, but Finral is proud of him just the same. “And… When it’s over, we can go home, right? So I just have to do it this once. And it’s not going to hurt as much as it did when it happened.”

“Of course not. And I’ll be there with you the whole time.” Because even if Damnatio Kira himself tries to drag Finral out of the room, he’ll fight tooth and nail to stay with Langris.

Julius offers them both a sunny smile, infectious enough that even Langris smiles quietly in return. “I’ve already cleared that with Damnatio. Finral, you’ll have to be there anyway so we can examine your memories, but no one will object to you standing with your brother.”

_ Thank the heavens for that. _ Finral isn’t surprised to feel Langris’s hands clasp his one tightly and he lets his brother have it, whatever he needs to stand strong in this moment. He would kiss him in front of everyone here if that would not immediately provoke such strong reactions that it very well would just get them in more trouble than it would help.

After, he will. When it is just the two of them tangled up in his blankets at the base, Finral will kiss Langris until he no longer has room in his head and heart for that guilt, that uncertainty, that pain. Until there can be no doubt that he is loved and cherished and that Finral would do anything for him. Fight this alongside him, die for him, it’s all the same to him. Langris has been his world since they were children. Nothing has changed.

If anything, Finral’s certainty in his feelings have only grown more intense now that Langris has returned them. Now he  _ has _ to do everything he says he will.

The only ones allowed to enter the room are them and Marx; he presses the doors open and gestures for them to follow while the others wait behind. Finral glances back just once at his captain, Yami giving him a firm nod, and then turns his attention forward. No looking back now. Once this is over and one with, he can finally take Langris home.

For now, Finral will face down his parents and everything they did to his little brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lied. comments will open when this fic is completed.


	18. Chapter 18

Damnatio Kira is a fae. This is something Langris has known since the moment he saw him.

Unlike Langris, Damnatio’s heritage was never hidden from him. He was placed within House Kira, and his parents must have considered him a blessing unto their household because they chose to keep him. They chose to raise him as a fae within a human world, not hiding the sharp points of his ears, the curl of pink along his cheekbones, the brilliant night sky of wings so rich a blue they are almost black. Langris knows this, because the first time he ever laid eyes on Damnatio in public, the first thing he noticed were his wings.

They match his eyes, as deep and seemingly endless as the sea itself. Eyes that meet Langris’s as soon as he steps into the courtroom with Finral, pressed so tight against his brother’s leg he may as well sink into his body and never come out again.

_ One last bad day, _ he thinks to himself.  _ One last bad day and everything finally ends. _

The courtroom is massive, light spilling in front above illuminating the dozens upon dozens of nobles and royals seated behind rails, watching them. Langris’s stomach flips and twists at the sight of them, knowing that their opinions will matter here. Damnatio will pass judgment but ultimately it will be the opinions of these people that decide his fate, and the fate of his parents— Of Ledior and Liliane Vaude, who  _ posed _ as his parents.

Are they loyal to House Kira? Will they choose the side of a fae over two humans?

Langris grasps for Finral’s hand and holds it as tightly as he can in both of his, reminding himself that all they have to do is escape if things do not turn out favorably. They can go back to the forest, back to the fae who took care of him, who took him in and healed him. Who gave him a home. Clover Kingdom is his home, where he grew up, and the nation he wants to become strong enough to protect with Finral, but not at the cost of his own life. Not when he is still too young to even serve as a Magic Knight. He doesn’t deserve that.

Finral’s fingers curl around his and squeeze briefly, and Langris looks up at him. He can see sweat beading on his brother’s forehead and wishes he could say something, anything, to make this easier on him. An apology for dragging him into the mess this has become.

But Finral would never accept such an apology. He would tell Langris there is nothing to apologize for, and in his heart, Langris would know that Finral is right.

Soft murmuring from the people around them makes Langris nervous, but he tries to stand as tall as he can while he clings to his brother’s hand. Marx’s magic will allow the truth to be displayed to all of these people… But how many of them will care about the truth?

“The king is here, I see.” Marx’s voice is soft, soft enough that Langris can barely hear him, which is probably intentional. “I don’t know his personal feelings about the fae, but I would assume you might have some favor leaning your way because of that.”

“Because of Damnatio?” Finral asks, just as soft, and Marx inclines his head just slightly.

Because Damnatio Kira is, at the end of the day, a member of House Kira.

The fae is tall, imposing, sharp features and dark shadowed eyes making Langris all the more nervous as they approach a small set of stairs leading to a railed-in landing. Everything about the room is huge and open and bright, but Langris feels so small and trapped. These are the people who will decide if any justice will be brought forth for the way he was treated as a child, and he doesn’t know if he can trust them to make the right choice, or if they will simply side with one of their own instead.

Up the stairs the three of them go, Marx standing in front of them and almost shielding them with the golden sunlight brilliance of his wings. “The three of us have arrived.”

“Is the boy fit to stand trial?” Damnatio asks, and his voice is just as deep as Langris thought it might be. Low, almost soothing, though the undercurrent carries an edge he is not familiar with. “No one wants to see a child faint on the stand from ill health.”

Langris clears his throat softly; Marx steps aside so that he can look up at Damnatio clearly, at the man who looks so similar to the fae who took care of him. “I’m well now.”

“That will make the proceedings far simpler, then. You understand why the two of you are here, yes?” Damnatio’s gaze slides to Finral for only a breath of a moment before his eyes lock with Langris’s once more. “I know you two have been absent from the kingdom since the night of the arrests. Do I need to catch the two of you up to speed?”

Finral shakes his head once. “We know you arrested them for what they did to Langris.”

“Then we all understand each other.” Damnatio glances to Marx, and Langris senses… Something there, some frisson of tension that flares just briefly and seems to dissipate into nothingness a moment later. “Marx Francois, I would ask once again to make use of your magic abilities so that we may understand the full scope of the situation.”

“Are they not going to be brought into the room?” Marx cocks his head, voice soft.

Damnatio pauses, then tilts his head just slightly. Careful movements. Langris wonders why. “Ledior and Liliane Vaude will be brought into the courtroom when I will have you examine their memories. I will have no disturbances while you do this first.”

“Very well then.” Marx turns to look at them, and though his expression is kind, there is a wariness to his expression that Langris recognizes far too well. The same expression that several of the fae wore when they asked him how he felt, as if bracing themselves for Langris’s pain. “Tell me where you would like me to begin, Damnatio.”

Again, those dark eyes seem to bore directly into Langris’s soul. “I would ask that you start with the boy’s memories of the night he was taken from the household. We should corroborate what the maid showed us first, and then we can move on from there.”

“I can do that. Langris?” Marx gestures for him to step forward, and it takes a mighty effort for Langris to let go of Finral’s hand, to step forward and in front of Marx. “Just relax. This will be painless, even though I know the memories will be painful.”

“If it pleases the court, I will have Marx Francois display to us the memories that Langris Vaude has of the night he left House Vaude.” Damnatio’s voice lifts, commanding and confident, sure in this environment. All around him, the room settles into an uneasy silence.

Langris braces himself. He already knows what everyone else is going to see.

“I’ll ask you questions about the significance of what you see,” Damnatio says, and Langris nods to show him that he understands. Even though he wants no part of this.

Marx’s magic is soothing and gentle, though. It unfurls cool and easy in Langris’s mind, stretching there like a cat basking in sunlight. Opening him up like a book to be easily read. He watches, impressed and amazed, as the space above his head shimmers into an image of the hallway in House Vaude, cast in shadow and almost too dark to see properly.

“Where are you here?” Damnatio asks, though his eyes are focused entirely on the image.

Langris is lucky that this did not start in his bedroom, remembering all too well the strange shadow-wraith that pretended to be his brother. “The hallway. I was sick and I was trying to leave the house. I thought I could get away. I really… I really tried.”

“From what we were able to glean, you became abruptly ill enough to be bedridden,” Damnatio says, and Langris nods as he watches the memory. Stumbling down the hallway, everything shaky and out of focus. He can  _ just _ make out the whisper of a voice, though the words are lost to him. “Who is that? It sounds like someone is speaking to you.”

Finral twitches; Langris swallows the knot in his throat. “I… I was hallucinating.”

“Hallucinating?” Damnatio glances down at him momentarily; a vein ticks in his jaw before his expression is calm once again. “How do you know you were hallucinating?”

“Because I thought I was talking to my brother, but I knew it wasn’t him. The thing I saw talked to me differently than he does, and I never… Really saw it? It was dark.” Admitting this at all makes him uncomfortable. Will they think him crazy if he says things like this?

Silence for a moment; they all watch as Langris stumbles down the hallway, as the faint glow of fae mana appears in his vision. He thought it was a stranger, then, wincing as his own spatial magic flies forth from his fingers. The cry of anguish, no clear image of Rill in this, but he can see the briefest flash of pink as he hurries past as quickly as he can.

“You weren’t aware they were coming to retrieve you, were you?” Damnatio asks, and Langris shakes his head. “Would you have attacked Rill Boismortier if you were aware of his intentions? Your memory leads me to believe you barely saw him.”

Langris ducks his head, shame flooding through his gut because he attacked someone  _ nice, _ he attacked a  _ friend. _ “No, I… I knew who Rill was because nii-san told me about him sometimes. I didn’t know it was him at all. I was sick and I sensed unfamiliar mana, and it scared me. I thought maybe whoever it was… That they were coming to hurt me.”

Dark eyes soften for just a moment before Damnatio nods. “I understand. Please go on.”

Camille is there, and Damnatio speaks again. “This woman. Who is she to you, personally?”

“No one. She was just a maid who worked in the house. And she was new. I didn’t know her name until she told me what it was.” Langris studies her face, the strain around her eyes, the way her lips are pulled tight and thin. She was upset for him, and he can hardly blame her for that now that he knows the full condition he was in. How close to death he was. “She found me in the garden before I got sick and brought me something I could eat.”

Damnatio glances at him again. Silent. Dark eyes growing more intense. “Can you show us that memory, then? I want to ensure that her memories of these events matched yours.”

So Langris does, bile hot and acidic in his throat as he watches himself nearly weep over something as simple as flower petals. He might never forget that desperate pull of hunger and the way it used to eat up his gut, but he hasn’t been hungry in days. William ensures he always has food to eat, sweet fruits and flowers and cakes that settle warm and heavy in his stomach, making sleep all the more fulfilling when it comes. Langris is so  _ happy _ now.

And he wants this to work. He wants this to end so he and Finral can stay together.

Camille comes to bring him cake, and Damnatio watches the memory silently before clearing his throat, his voice raising once again. “The memories match those that we viewed of the witch maid.” Then his voice drops back to its normal speaking level. “If you would like to pick up where you left off. I believe you’d just met her in the hallway.”

Most of these memories feel blurry and uncertain to Langris, but his stomach still roils when he watches Camille’s expression change as she finds the pins in his hair. Something so small he never would have thought of when he was younger. Something so… Innocent, pinning a sick boy’s flyaway bed head out of his face so it would not get all the more tangled and difficult to keep clean and tidy. It was nice to have it out of his eyes.

Liliane was trying to kill him. Something so small and innocent that only a fae would have recognized, something that Langris never would have. She really did try to kill him.

“Those are the pins that were recovered from the garden,” Damnatio says, voice loud once more; Langris hears a burst of whispers and glances around, uncertain of what that meant, of where that will lead. Do they know what those are? The significance? “A reminder that Liliane Vaude’s memories initially did show us that she knew these were iron pins and she chose them on purpose. Langris, did she pin your hair up often?”

“Yes. She told me it was to keep it out of my eyes when I was sick.” Langris watches the memories again, watches the flutter of familiar vibrant pink wings, of friendly warm eyes meeting his own. It makes him feel sick because Rill was so kind to him, and yet Langris hurt him… So many people in his life hurt him, how could he know this one wouldn’t?

Damnatio takes a slow, deep breath and exhales just as carefully, but the calm facade he keeps up noticeably drops in his gaze the longer he watches Camille pick the pins out of Langris’s hair. His eyes are nearly black now, dark with fury, but that is the only sign that something is wrong that Langris can see. It makes sense, of course. Damnatio is a fae, and if iron truly poisons their kind then he would know how monstrous this action is, how clear it was that Liliane wanted Langris to suffer and die.

There are noticeable awed gasps when Rill summons his dragon, whispers again though Langris ignores those. Fae have powerful and interesting magic; he’s in the presence of two of them that do, after all, and all of these people should know Damnatio surely.

“That’s enough,” Damnatio says after Rill has revealed to Langris what he is, and Marx’s magic dissipates, leaving Langris feeling alone again in his own head. “Thank you, Marx.”

“Of course.” Marx smiles pleasantly, but it does not quite meet his eyes.

“While I am sure there was likely a history of such behavior leading up to that event, we need only really consider the circumstances we saw that evening.” Damnatio’s wings flutter slightly, dark dust spiralling toward the ground in their wake, shimmering softly in the light spilling from above them. “I would ask that you recount the moment when Liliane Vaude placed the pins in your hair, but I have already seen her memories of doing so.”

Langris’s mouth falls open slightly, and then he closes it. He understands this, because he knew it to be true before ever walking into this room. “I… I think I was probably asleep.”

“You were.” Damnatio’s gaze shifts to Finral, and Finral stiffens slightly. “I am aware you were not there that evening, so I want to ask you questions before we examine any of your memories. Were you aware that your parents were treating Langris in this way?”

“I didn’t know he was a fae, so I didn’t know what to believe in full.” Finral meets Damnatio’s gaze head-on and Langris feels a small surge of pride for his brother. “I only saw so much and had to draw conclusions from that. But in the end I didn’t like it.”

Damnatio inclines his head. His eyes are as sharp as razors. “And why would that be?”

For a moment, Finral is silent; Langris can see the thoughts turning around in his head and he wants to say something in his defense. Speak up on Finral’s behalf, because Finral has been the best person in his life, the one who protected him and saved him, and he doesn’t want anyone here to misconstrue his character in any way, shape, or form.

“Because Langris was suffering, and I thought I could do something to stop it. Maybe it was selfish to think that way, because I had no true reason to believe that Ledior and Liliane were not doing everything they could to help.” Finral chooses his words with care and Langris wants to go to him, to take his hand, to tell him he did  _ right, _ that even Langris had no idea what their intentions were. “I disagreed with some of their choices of course, I thought they were too close-minded in handling his health and what they let him eat.”

“Are you aware that fae cannot consume meat?” Damnatio asks, and Finral nods slowly.

Then he speaks again, as if unwilling to let the point go himself. “But as I said, I didn’t know he was a fae. All I knew was that he didn’t like certain foods. Maybe he was just a picky eater. But it made me uncomfortable to know they were making him eat those foods.”

“I understand the sentiment.” Damnatio waves him forward and Finral comes to stand with the rest of them, Marx already stretching out a hand toward him. “You’ll show us the last evening you spent with Langris before the rescue attempt. When he was first badly ill.”

Finral’s face twists into one of anguish but he nods, and Marx gets to work.

Seeing himself through Finral’s eyes is different for sure; Langris watches in silent captivation as the evening he remembers too well comes back into sharp relief. They sent Finral away after this. They sent him away  _ because _ of this, because Langris’s illness and his own clawing mana were trying so hard to break through the glamour spell keeping his truth self hidden away. He understands that now, but seeing the blood, hearing the awful choking and hacking noises, the vomiting, it all makes him feel shaky again.

_ No more, _ he reminds himself.  _ This is the last time any of this has to happen. _

But he knows, in his heart, that this is not quite true. The happy days will lead him back into the pain of the memories alone, the trauma, the memories of his parents treating him like something was wrong with him. Like he was a broken toy meant to be fixed, not a child who desperately needed someone to properly take care of him.

Both Damnatio and Marx look visibly disturbed by how sick Langris is; there are louder whispers around them now, and Langris can almost make some of them out if he tries.

So he strains, because he wants to know.  _ Monsters… Look how sick he is… Dying… _

There are memories here that Langris does not have, because the servants made Finral leave the room. There is only a flash of a glance backward to where Langris is doubled over on the bed with Liliane behind him, trying to hold him. And just barely, just  _ barely _ in the light spilling in from the hallway, Langris can see the swirl of magenta on his cheek.

Finral probably thought nothing of it. His eyes saw it and he barely registered it.

Ledior is in the hallway when Finral is pushed into it, and Langris watches in silence as his brother is snapped at, yelled at,  _ sent away _ . Pain tugs at his heart and he wants nothing more than to go to Finral now, to hug him, to curl up in his arms and promise Finral that he never blamed him for being sent away like this. He never would, he can’t, he isn’t capable of treating Finral so poorly, of not loving him the way their parents did.

Arguing. The way Ledior gets up in Finral’s face makes Langris’s chest hurt.  _ Nii-san is such a good man, _ he thinks as he watches his brother try to argue, try to fight back. To stay.

“That’s enough,” Damnatio says when the glimmer of Finral’s spatial magic appears. The fae’s face is ashen against the vibrant shade of his fae markings. “I take it that it was unusual for your brother to grow so sick in such a short period of time. You seem shocked.”

Finral is quiet for a moment, then shakes his head. “That’s not quite it. He’d  _ never _ been that sick before. He’d never thrown up blood. I was shocked because I thought… I thought it was getting worse. I thought he was dying because of the blood.”

_ I did, too, _ Langris thinks. He wants his brother to hold him. When all of this is over, he wants to bury his face in Finral’s chest and pretend for just a moment that it never happened, that none of this is real. That the two of them are just… Together.

Damnatio is quiet, then turns his back to them. “I would like Ledior and Liliane Vaude brought in now so that we can corroborate some of what we have seen.” When he turns back to them, there is some tense and unreadable emotion in his eyes. “The two of you may go stand on either side of the room. I will pass judgment after all is said and done.”

There is a dais on each side, and Langris grasps Finral’s hand once more as they move to the one on the left, wanting to huddle in against his side. The Vaudes have to be brought in, and he knows this. He’s grateful that their side of the story could go uninterrupted, but he still has no desire to see them, to face down the people who tried to kill him. Langris knows he should be brave, but all he wants to do now is go home with Finral.

Finral squeezes his hand, and his smile is strained but gentle as he looks down at Langris. “We’ll have to get you some of Charmy’s food when we go home.”

“Okay.” Langris smiles back up at him, and he hopes it does anything for Finral’s nerves.

“I’m proud of you.” Finral squeezes his hand again and Langris ducks his head, ignoring the soft warmth that blooms in his cheeks at the gentle words. “All you have to do is make it through a little more, and you did so well already. I really am proud of you.”

Langris squeezes his eyes shut, stifling a small whine in his throat at the way his stomach flutters so hard at Finral’s words. “Nii-san did a good job, too. You were very brave.”

“I would do anything for you. I told you that.” Finral means it; Langris believes him.

The sound of footsteps takes his attention away from his brother, and he turns to see the man and woman that were once his parents led into the room in chains.

He knows they were arrested. He does. Damnatio said it only a moment ago, but Langris still feels that moment of shock and disbelief at the sight of the heavy gleaming cuffs around the wrists and ankles of Lord and Lady Vaude. This is where they should be, and he knows that. Still, seeing this happen feels almost like a dream to him. Langris was so used to suffering in silence that any proof that people  _ know _ feels unreal.

Finral tugs him closer and Langris lets him, pressing himself ever tighter to his brother’s side as he stares at Ledior and Liliane. Their nice clothes are rumpled, and there are dark circles under their eyes.  _ Good. _ If either of them has suffered even a little waiting for this day, then they deserve it. They tried to  _ kill _ him. Langris can’t feel bad for them.

And they hurt Finral, too. They treated him horribly for years in favor of a son they clearly never truly wanted, so why should Langris let himself ache for them?

He notes the exact moment when their heads turn in his direction, and he refuses to look away from their gazes as he holds Finral’s hand as tight as he dares. Fading into the shadows would be ideal in a moment like this, pinned beneath the gazes of the two people who were supposed to love him. If they never loved him, if they never wanted him, then why keep him for so long? Why keep him after his true heritage was revealed?

But Langris knows why. Of course he knows why. Because Finral was not  _ enough _ for them. Because someone so bright and joyful and full of light and happiness would never be enough, even though he was everything Langris had clung to for almost a decade.

The one who loved him. The one who saved him. The one who actually made him happy.

Damnatio looks less than impressed with the two of them now, and Langris can only hope that means good things for him and for Finral. That the two of them can leave here together, and that their former parents will no longer be bothering them.

“Examinations of the memories of Langris Vaude and Finral Roulacase have corroborated what we have already seen from the two of you.” Damnatio’s voice is distinctly different now, sharper and harsher. Clearly unhappy. “That the boy was gravely ill when he was recovered from the estate, ill enough to hallucinate. Were either of you aware of this?”

Ledior tries to stand tall against Damnatio’s impenetrable gaze. “How were we to know? The two of us were in bed. The servant girl should have come to fetch us—”

“The servant girl who discovered iron pins in your son’s hair,” Damnatio says coldly, and Ledior stops speaking. “There is one memory I wanted to view of yours. I doubt the boy would have been old enough to remember the event. He wouldn’t have kept it hidden.”

Langris blinks, cocks his head, then glances up at Finral in silent question, but his brother’s lips are pressed into a thin line, his face once again far too pale. What memory?

Damnatio continues on while the Vaudes look visibly confused, and then very pale and very sick. “As I have been here attempting to mitigate the damage such a discovery has done to the citizens of Clover Kingdom, I was unable to speak with the fae of the forest directly, so I could not be told what happened to Langris’s wings. Because  _ every _ fae of his age has wings. Mine began to grow when I was very young. By his age, I had them.”

_ My wings? _ Langris blinks, then looks up at Finral again. Does it matter what happened to them? Langris remembers nothing. He doesn’t need or want them back because he never recalls having them. All he cares about is being alive and healthy and happy now.

“I presume they were removed,” Damnatio says. “Of course, I could be wrong. But I would like to see your side of the story before I gather the opinions of the court.”

Ledior’s back stiffens. “I don’t know what that has to do with anything—”

“Had you simply concealed the boy’s nature and did not attempt to use that very nature in order to harm him physically, we would not be standing here.” Damnatio is annoyed. Langris can tell. “If you chose to use that nature to do irreparable harm, then I would like to see proof of that. As I said, I doubt Langris was old enough to remember you having done it. A child of that age would likely not have been capable of lying about having wings.”

The space above Ledior’s head glitters for a moment before smoothing into an image, and Langris feels his stomach drop at the sight of it. At the sight of  _ himself, _ just a toddler, sitting carefully on his father’s lap as Ledior touches the pale, unmarked skin of his back.

_ “It itches,” _ the Langris in the memory says, and Langris swallows hard.  _ “What is it?” _

The Ledior in the memory touches the small of Langris’s back, where tiny wings have begun to sprout, far too small to do anything with. But there.  _ “A rash. I’ll call a healer to check.” _

“That bastard,” Finral whispers, and Langris squeezes his hand. It doesn’t matter.

The memory shifts again, to Liliane’s concerned face.  _ “What are we going to do? Nothing we’ve tried is strong enough. If he sees them… There’s no hiding this if he sees them—!” _

_ “I think the only thing we can do is find a way to remove them. I’m sure it can’t be that hard.” _ Ledior sighs and Langris closes his eyes, shaking his head. It doesn’t matter because he can’t remember. He can’t mourn the loss of something he never had.  _ “I’ll find someone. And then he can grow up into a normal child without knowing anything about this.” _

Liliane’s voice is mournful.  _ “Those wretched creatures… I just want  _ my _ Langris back.” _

When Langris opens his eyes, he does not recognize the face of the man in Ledior’s memories.  _ “Of course I can do it. Fae wings aren’t made of steel. It wouldn’t be any different than removing an infected limb. Easier, even, they’re quite fragile.” _

Damnatio and Marx both still; Langris doesn’t think either of them are breathing.

In the memory, Ledior nods.  _ “That’s good, we need it done straight away, and they’re rather small. And we would appreciate it if you were… Discreet about this.” _

_ “For a price, of course,” _ the man says, his smile widening into a sharp grin.

_ “Of course,”  _ Ledior agrees, and next to Langris, Finral swears under his breath.

The next memory makes Langris’s stomach churn so harshly that he feels sick, because of course Ledior was present when his wings were removed. There are healers present, and the man who agreed to take payment for this heinous act is there. One hand glows, wrapped in mana, as he traces his fingers along Langris’s skin. Up toward the frail, delicate growth of his small wings. The minute his fingertips touch their base, blood blooms at the base of the wings, Langris’s skip opening up to allow their removal.

Damnatio is a pale man, but his face looks positively white as he looks at Ledior. “So you paid this man to remove your son’s wings. Am I interpreting your memories correctly?”

“We had to do something! Letting his wings grow in would have made it harder to hide what he was from everyone else.” Ledior spreads his hands as far as the chains will allow, his voice rough. Upset. It reminds Langris of how he sounded every time Finral disappointed him. “What could we do? We didn’t  _ ask _ for a fae child. We had one forced upon us.”

Marx twitches; Damnatio’s lips twist into a frown. “Forced upon you? Is that correct?”

“ _ Your _ parents didn’t choose you either!” Liliane bursts out, and gasps rip through the room, surrounding them on all sides. “I just wanted my baby boy back, and instead we had to make due with what we had. If people had known, they would have said awful things.”

Langris squeaks as he’s picked up off of his feet, Finral hugging him tight to his chest as he glares at the Vaudes. His grip is almost too tight to be anything but painful, but Langris twists around to hold him tight, not wanting Finral to be upset. Not wanting him to be angry or sad, because… They knew this. The Vaudes saying it changes nothing.

And Langris has Finral now, which is what he’s really wanted. Things can end like this.

Damnatio’s voice is as cold and sharp as a blade. “You could have taken the boy back to the forest if you so desired. If you were too afraid to approach the forest, or if you wanted no one to know, you could have simply paid someone as you did to remove his wings.”

If they had taken him back, Langris would not have Finral. He keeps reminding himself of these things, lest he forget them as he allows himself to be swept up in the anguish of it all. Everything he suffered through was for a purpose. It was. It had to be.

He has Finral. He survived through so much pain because he has Finral.

“And be stuck with that  _ failure _ of a boy?” Ledior demands, and Finral flinches so harshly that Langris immediately throws his arms tight around his neck, hugging him closer.  _ Not a failure, not a failure, you’re so perfect.  _ “You don’t understand and you don’t  _ have _ to understand. We did what we had to do for the good of our family and our house.”

Damnatio’s wings flutter once. Gently. “And I wonder how the opinions of the people around you would measure up to your words. Why don’t we discover that for ourselves?”

His grimoire appears from within the folds of his robe, fluttering open as it glows. Langris watches, helplessly intrigued as a scale appears clasped tight in one pale hand. And it is in this that Langris can see his hand is shaking, just barely. Restrained anger, perhaps.

“I would ask the court to make their final decision on the fate of Ledior and Liliane Vaude,” Damnatio says, and despite his anger, despite all of this, his voice is cold, clear, controlled. Loud enough for everyone to hear, though the whispering and talking does not die down this time. “For the crimes they have committed against their youngest son.”

The scale tips back and forth for a moment, then one side falls.

Damnatio Kira rises to his full height, wings spread wide. “The court finds you both guilty, and as chairman of the Magic Parliament, I am here to pass judgment.”

Langris exhales and hugs Finral tighter. It’s over. It’s  _ finally _ over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's all over... or is it?


	19. Chapter 19

The judgment for the crimes committed by Ledior and Liliane Vaude is death.

Finral knew this would be true the moment they stepped forth into the courtroom. This will be the last time he sees the parents who raised him, who raised Langris. There is a twist of nausea in his gut at the thought of them dying, but it falls far below the relief that sweeps through his body and almost brings him to his knees. Relief that neither of them will ever be able to hurt Langris again, and now Finral can properly care for him.

He presses a kiss to Langris’s hair, letting his brother nestle as close as he wants to. “It’s all over,” he murmurs, and Langris hugs him around the neck a little tighter. “I’m here.”

“And you’re never going to leave again, right?” Langris whispers in his ear, and Finral shakes his head. Never again. Anywhere he goes, Langris will be at his side.

There are conversations happening all around them, seated nobles and royals whispering and talking freely, but Finral ignores all of them as he turns his eyes to the Vaudes. To Damnatio, who turns slightly to beckon them closer once again. Finral has no desire to carry Langris anywhere near their parents, but he wants this to go as smoothly as possible so they can go home together. So he shifts Langris’s weight in his arms to make it easier to carry him and crosses the wide, brightly lit floor once again. For the final time.

Because he certainly won’t be doing anything to land himself in the hot seat here. Just having Marx look through his memories for evidence is enough to unsettle him, thank you.

“Are you going to be caring for Langris Vaude in place of your parents?” Damnatio asks him when Finral is close enough. He takes in the exhausted expression on the fae’s face, the dark circles under his eyes, the tense set of his shoulders. This must have been awful for him, having those words flung in his face. How hard has his life been growing up a fae?

It must have been bad. Finral doesn’t even need to guess, if he thinks about it properly. He heard whispered stories about fae being monsters ever since childhood.

“That’s my plan,” he says, rubbing a hand up and down Langris’s small back as he carefully balances him on just the one arm. Even healthy, Langris is not quite heavy enough to make it hard for Finral to hold him like this, but he still likes to be careful.

His parents never were, so Finral will have to show Langris that he deserves to have people be careful of him. To treat him with gentleness and care where that is merited, to show him that tenderness is acceptable and desirable. In more ways than one.

His face warms slightly at the memory of Langris in his arms in the forest, and he wonders how long he might be able to sneak that before his squad will sniff out the truth.

Damnatio nods slowly, his eyes drifting to Langris as the guards of Magic Parliament come forth to seize the Vaudes and take them to… To their execution, Finral realizes. “The situation is a delicate one. You are the only biological heir of House Vaude, though I am well aware your parents have all but disowned you. They haven’t claimed Langris, either.”

“I don’t really care about what happens with their money or their property. All I care about is Langris.” And if Clover Kingdom wants to seize those assets and do with them what they please, Finral hardly cares. He can take care of Langris all on his own.

Dark eyes soften slightly, and some of the tension in Damnatio’s shoulders eases. “That is good to know, but it is still a legal matter that must be handled. I think the matter is—”

When a guard takes Ledior by the elbow, the man jerks himself away, eyes blazing with anger that Finral has never seen in him before. “Don’t  _ touch _ me. Finral, you stop this right now. Now you know the truth. That boy isn’t your brother. So take him back to the fae forest if you want and tell these people we did  _ nothing _ wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?” Finral’s voice comes out sharp and bitter and poisonous, and Langris trembles slightly in his arms. “ _ Everything _ you did was wrong! He was a  _ baby _ and you treated him like he was a criminal. How could I ever have sympathy for either of you?”

What they did to him personally has nothing to do with anything else. Fine, throw him aside and treat him like a liability to House Vaude because his magic is too weak and ineffectual in battle, because nothing about him is impressive or desirable in an heir. Finral is fine with this, he  _ is, _ because all he cares about is the happiness of his little brother. All he cares about is Langris. If they spit on him and stepped on him, if they beat him and starved him, he would have accepted it as long as they were taking proper care of Langris.

But they couldn’t even do that. They treated Langris  _ worse _ than they treated Finral.

“Fae are  _ monsters, _ ” Ledior argues, and Finral squeezes Langris tighter against his chest. “They took your  _ real _ brother and left us with one of their own. We didn’t have a choice but to raise this child! How can you ever think they deserve any sympathy at all?”

The mana behind him flickers and sparks; neither Damnatio nor Marx are happy to hear those comments, and Finral can hardly blame either of them. “You could have taken him back to the fae. But you couldn’t do that. I won’t ever understand why you did this to him.”

“It was  _ your _ fault!” Liliane barely fights against the guards who take her by the arms, the chain connecting her cuffs rattling in time with her sobs. “You and your wretched mother’s because she couldn’t even birth a child who could live up to the position he held.”

Langris’s arms tighten, almost enough to make Finral choke. “That’s not true,” he whispers.

Finral winces, but this is nothing new to him. Not after hearing it for most of his life. His squad thinks differently, Langris values his magic— He has people who  _ love _ him and look out for him, who act as the family he never would have had if he did not join the Black Bulls when Yami Sukehiro extended the offer. Finral made the right choice then and he is now, ensuring his parents will never be able to harm Langris again.

And when he goes back to the Black Bulls with Langris, he will have no regrets in doing this.

“I just wanted my  _ baby _ back, not some devil from that dreadful forest!” Liliane wails, but Finral only shakes his head at her. How can she not understand? She  _ raised _ Langris.

“He loved you both so much.” Finral sets Langris down on his feet, pushing his brother behind him, serving as the shield between him and the Vaudes. “He made excuses for the awful way you treated him. He was a child and you tried to  _ kill  _ him. Who are the true monsters? Who fed a child poison until he was desperately trying to run away?”

Marx’s hand is gentle on his shoulder, and Finral recognizes the familiar warmth that curls beneath his skin. He wonders how they do that. He needs to ask, and he wonders if Langris can do the same if he tries. “There’s no point in arguing, Finral. Everything is done now.”

That, Finral knows. Because Damnatio’s judgments come down with nothing but finality.

“Don’t  _ listen _ to them,” Ledior says, and Finral throws an arm out in front of Marx. He will shield  _ all _ of them from his parents if he has to. Because not a single fae that Finral has ever met deserves to hear this venom. “They’re going to trick you. They’re not human, Finral, you can see that. They kidnap children and adults and they take them away!”

“You should have gone back for the child you wanted so badly!” Finral raises his voice, because this is too much for him. Because this is too cruel for him. “Langris didn’t deserve to suffer like that.  _ You _ are both the devils for abusing a child to the point of near death.”

He should have kidnapped Langris away sooner. Now he knows that. He could have taken him away and neither of the Vaudes would have said a word to him about it. And he hadn’t known that, but it only makes him feel all the worse for not doing it when he had so many chances. Maybe he could have taken Langris away the first night he was so badly sick, spirited him away to Grey, and maybe Rill would have known right away that Langris was a fae. They had  _ options, _ and all Finral had to do was take the risk.

“That isn’t a child, that’s a demon! He has you ensnared just like the rest of them. Send him back and you’ll see it’s true,” Ledior insists, and Finral wants so  _ badly _ to strike him.

Delicate hands clutch the material of his shirt and Finral’s hand shakes where his arm is still thrown out in front of Marx, in front of Damnatio. “How fucking  _ dare _ you talk about him like that? Even if he  _ was _ a devil, he was a baby. He was your son! And you owed it to him to take care of him, at least better than you ever bothered to take care of me!”

Finral does not see it coming. He can count the amount of times Ledior has raised a hand to him on both hands, more than most children have been struck by their parents. More than any  _ should be, _ but Ledior Vaude has not been a violent man to him. Not often.

So Finral is unprepared. Even as everything seems to slow down, he does not expect it.

The only member of House Vaude with naturally offensive spatial magic is Langris. That does not mean Ledior is incapable of it. It takes ingenuity, though. So he probably thought about exactly how he would need to channel his mana. Exactly how to wrap it around his hand like a glove, and the space between them is so little in comparison to most.

Finral takes the blow in the gut.  _ Through _ the gut, he realizes a moment after it is too late to do anything to stop it. He feels nothing except a strange ache in his gut until he looks down just in time, the guards ripping Ledior away from him. Sending a shower of blood dripping from the wound punched into Finral’s stomach, his own hands moving toward it.

Blood is hot, slippery. Finral’s knees knock together for a moment, the strength leaving him. He almost  _ almost _ misses Langris’s scream, the shouting, the way the guards yank his parents back. Damnatio saying something, all of it seems… Fuzzy, detached.

And then his legs crumple beneath him, and Finral hits the floor so hard it jars the pain in his stomach into focus. Like flames licking at his skin, at raw and helpless nerves.

“Nii-san!” Langris throws himself on top of Finral, small hands covering Finral’s own, as if trying to press them tighter to the wound. “No, no, no.  _ Somebody get help! _ ”

The pain is both present and distant. Because Langris is kneeling beside him, beautiful blue-green eyes filling with tears as he presses own harder against Finral’s hands. Finral never wanted him to cry again. Such a simple promise he couldn’t even keep.

A wry smile twists his lips into a grimace and he wants to reach for his brother so badly, to pull him closer. Distracted so much by that lovely face once again twisted in anguish because of his failure, Finral almost doesn’t notice the sweeping shadow of Marx darting around his fallen body and toward the doors. Toward the fae. Ah, yes, because Letra’s spatial magic will take them back to the forest immediately. He promised them.

A promise he can keep. In comparison to Finral, who has  _ never _ done enough for Langris.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and Langris blinks down at him. Tears drip from his eyes, landing on Finral’s cheek. Warm and wet, his brother’s pain laid so bare to his eyes. “If they never wanted you, I— I could have just taken you away. I could have rescued you earlier.”

Langris shakes his head, his soft hair tumbling down onto his forehead. Finral wants to sweep it back and kiss him there. Reassure him. “You saved me.  _ You _ saved me.”

He did, but he could have done it sooner.  _ Should _ have done it sooner. Said damn it all to the risks and danger and taken Langris into his arms and loved him like he deserved.

“They said such awful things about you. I let them.” And he can’t take that back now. His defenses mean nothing when he should have shouted in their faces. He should have thrown decorum aside and  _ punched _ Ledior for all the horrible things he spit at Langris, at the fae.

The fae, who took both of them in and nursed Langris back to health. Who allowed Finral to stay by his side, something not even the Vaudes would do for him. And he told them he would keep Langris safe, and who is he to make such claims? He can’t even protect himself.

He is just as pitiful as Ledior always made him out to be. Inoffensive magic, a soul too kind for the position of Magic Knight, he is supposed to be more. So much more than he is now, so much more because as he is, he could never protect Langris from  _ anything, _ and he  _ refuses _ to allow Langris to protect him. Not now. Not ever. He’s just a child.

Maybe this is what Finral deserves. Maybe this pain is well-earned, because this is nothing compared to what Langris suffered. What Finral  _ let _ him suffer at his parents’ hands.

“I don’t care about them,” Langris insists. “There’s so much blood, nii-san, please. Please, it’s going to be okay. We just need to get you back to the forest.”

“Of course it’s going to be okay.” Finral chuckles. The sound still aches all the way through his body, and all he wants to do is comfort his baby. “I won’t leave you now. I mean that.”

“Or ever. You have to stay with me forever,” Langris insists. And Finral wants to. To stay close to him, to stay with him, to always be there to offer his arms when Langris needs him. Inferior that he is, not worthy of him, of his brother’s precious unconditional love.

Langris deserves someone who is worthy of everything he can offer, and Finral is not that, but he still tries to smile through the pain. “If you want me to stay forever, then I will.”

“If I— Nii-san is so stupid sometimes.” Langris presses down harder on his hands and Finral winces but helps him, because they need to stop the bleeding. “That’s all I want!”

There are a flurry of footsteps and Finral smiles briefly, because saving him will be so simple in comparison to saving Langris. And it could have been easy, he doesn’t  _ deserve _ for it to be so easy when Langris had to suffer so much. Hallucinating in the dark, starving to death, poisoned… What’s one puncture wound compared just to  _ that? _

Liliane is right. It is Finral’s fault. Just not in the way she seems to think that it is.

“Be  _ damned _ if you rotten humans ever get your hands on another one of our own,” Letra snaps, and Finral laughs briefly. It hurts. It makes blood gush against his hands and Langris cries out at him. “I should have known it was going to come to this.”

Damnatio clears his throat. “One moment before you escort Finral Roulacase to safety.”

“He doesn’t  _ have _ a moment,” Letra protests, and the familiar shiver of his spatial magic has Finral glancing past the torment of his brother’s face to the fae standing over him. Face twisted into a half-snarl, his teeth bared, entire body trembling with fury. For Finral, who does not deserve it, and who will never deserve it. Maybe he should take lessons on how to be a good brother, because Ratri is healthy and happy, and Langris… Langris…

A soft fluttering fills the air. “Far be it from me to waste your time with nonsense.”

The pressure of mana against his wounds makes Finral blink, glancing down. He knows what a healer’s mana traditionally feels like. He knows how it soothingly slides into wounds, easing the pain and providing necessary comfort to the wounded. But this is different. It curls against his gut, dark and threatening instead, pulsing under his hands. Nothing like he has ever felt before, nothing he ever wants to feel again in his entire life.

“Magic like mine will never be useful for  _ proper _ healing,” Damnatio muses, “but I’ve learned a useful trick for those who would deal out needless violence to my witnesses.”

A soft  _ clink _ and the mana leaches into his skin, drawing a startled gasp from Finral’s lips as the wound is forcibly healed. It almost  _ hurts, _ as if healing it too quickly, but he feels the gaping crater beneath his hands fill once again until they are resting on top of his own flat, smooth stomach. Confusion hazes over his mind as he looks down to where he and Langris are now uselessly pressing their hands, because there is no wound there.

Still blood, but Finral can recover from blood loss. He might have died of that wound.

“How did you—” He barely asks the question before a guttural grunt and a wet noise has him pushing himself up onto his hands, trying to see around the people gathered around him now. To where Ledior sags in the grip of the guards, deal the wound Finral carried.

Damnatio’s grimoire flutters shut. His scale dissipates into a glitter of gold, and then nothingness. “Scale magic has many uses, but as I said, this one was new. I wanted to ensure that anyone who brings forth testimony should be safe to do so.”

“An ability that balances the violence by inflicting it on the giver and healing the receiver.” The voice has Finral glancing up to see that  _ everyone _ has come into the room, including Wizard King Julius. Whose face immediately splits into a wide grin, his eyes glittering wildly. “You  _ have _ to tell me more about how that works, Damnatio! I didn’t know you could do that. Is it a new spell? You must have worked so hard in order to develop—”

Marx clears his throat softly. “I think it’s inappropriate to bring up such a thing right now.” He turns his eyes to Letra, whose expression has dialed back a bit, but barely. “Feel free to take Finral back to the forest to ensure that his wounds are properly healed—”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to. I didn’t come here to ask for permission.” Letra kneels down next to them, and the protective air is not something Finral misses. Or the way that Ratri stands next to him, small cute face set into a scowl. “We’ll bring them back when we’re sure that Finral is well. Nothing like this better happen  _ ever _ again.”

“It was an oversight on my part. It never will,” Damnatio says, and Letra huffs at him.

Ratri steps closer to them, reaching out to touch Finral’s shoulder, flaring his wings in what Finral thinks is meant to be a protective stance. “If you knew humans hated us and might hurt him because he’s with us, then you should have kept them far apart.”

“You’re right.” And Damnatio looks exhausted all over again.

Finral clears his throat, patting the hand twisted up in the fabric of his shirt until Ratri looks down at him with those deep, deep blue eyes. “It’s all right. The only fault lies with… Well, you know who did this. Let’s just get back to the forest, all right?”

“Please,” Langris agrees, and Finral throws an arm around him and pulls him even closer.

“Very well.” Letra sighs, and the floor beneath them shimmers just before they  _ drop, _ Finral squealing and yanking Langris against his chest to protect him.

They land on soft grass, of course, because Finral is dramatic and the brief sensation of falling was enough to startle him. Langris still clings to him for a moment longer before leaning away, looking around at the fact the two of them are once again in the fae forest. Hard to miss, giving the glowing mushrooms, the trees so tall they sweep the skies, and the familiar warmth of fae mana that Finral has grown far too used to.

It takes another moment for Letra and Ratri to join them, slipping gracefully from the spatial portal hovering above, landing easily on their feet with their wings to balance them. Both of them are so beautiful sometimes that Finral feels stupid just looking at them, far more clumsy than he already is. Of course Langris is also a fae. It just makes sense.

“I stayed behind a moment to assure your captain that we would indeed bring you back to him after we ensure you’re all healed.” Letra offers him a hand and Finral takes it, remembering when this particular fae did not trust him. After what Ledior just tried, now he knows why. How many fae must have experiences like the one Finral just suffered?

Langris sniffles and Finral hugs him closer. No, baby, no more tears. “Are you all right? I was so scared, I… I couldn’t even protect you. I wanted to protect you.”

“That’s not your job, Langris. It’s my job to keep you safe. I mean it.” Finral kisses him on the forehead, and because only Letra and Ratri are here, he also kisses him on the lips. A soft and reassuring peck for his scared baby brother. “I hope Captain Yami wasn’t too worried. I imagine not, it takes a lot to really… Provoke a reaction out of him, I guess.”

Ratri shakes his head, laughing a little. “Everything’s fine. He said he’ll wait as long as he needs to wait. So let’s get you to William. I’ve never seen a spell like that before, but we don’t know if it actually  _ worked _ or not until William can check you over properly.”

“I should thank you both for doing so much for us. You didn’t have to,” Finral says, but Letra immediately shakes his head, stepping in close to put a hand on Finral’s shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Finral Roulacase, whether you believe that for yourself or not. Anyone willing to do so much to take care of his little brother is always going to be a good person in my eyes.” Letra winks at him, and Finral tries his best not to roll his eyes in response. Of course. Of  _ course _ that’s what Letra says. “We’ll fly you to William. You were the only patients he was actively caring for by the time you left, so we’ll take you to his house.”

His house? Finral blinks, then realizes that he never stopped to ask himself where all the fae  _ lived _ within the forest. Probably houses set up into the trees, but he never looked for any of them, really. He and Langris were busy exploring around Yggdrasil. No houses there.

Well, of  _ course _ there were no houses there. The fae can fly and at least one of them has the spatial magic necessary to move from place to place, so probably they can get there any time they need with ease. And why put houses there? It might compromise patients.

Langris sniffles, and Finral kisses his forehead again. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Oh, absolutely. William would be upset with us if we didn’t come to get him after what happened.” Ratri holds out his arms, and Langris leans down to carefully set his brother in the little fae’s embrace. “It’s a longer flight than we’ve taken you on before, but you can trust us to make it safe and sound. Fae are a lot stronger than we probably look.”

Finral laughs softly, then squeaks when Letra sweeps him off of his feet as if he really does weigh nothing, scrambling to grab the fae by the shoulders. “Hey, careful!”

“Relax. I wouldn’t drop you. Look how gently I set you down with my magic.” Letra rolls his eyes but his smile is fond, and Finral really is grateful for both him and Ratri, for the fae brothers who have watched over them for no reason other than that they seem to want to do that. “Let’s get you to William’s house, and then we have a small surprise for you both.”

A surprise? Finral cocks his head and Langris sniffles, rubbing his eyes a little as he starts to perk up. Poor baby. All Finral wanted to do was take him back to the base, get him situated there so the two of them could start their new life together. But soon, he will. He survived a hole in the gut for his brother, and he can and will do it again if he has to.

Everything for Langris. There are no limits to what Finral would do for him.

The fae brothers take to the air with such ease that Finral envies them for just a moment before being caught up in the beautiful shimmer of their wings in the sunlight. All of the fae he has seen so far have been gorgeous, ethereal creatures that threaten to steal his breath away— And it serves to remind him of Ledior’s memories once again. Of Langris’s small, helpless wings being bloodily carved from his back when he was so, so small.

Langris should have wings. Langris should get to fly the skies with his fellow fae.

They enter a part of the forest Finral  _ definitely _ does not recognize but he finds himself gazing in wonder at all of the houses that are, indeed, perched up into the heavy, thick limbs of the trees. Whimsical in shape and structure and even color, none of them the least bit uniform, but easily large enough to support the fae who must live within them. Even Langris makes a noise of awe, his tearstained eyes widening as his head swivels.

“This is the residential district at the heart of the forest, more or less, and stretches on for some time. There are houses near the edges, too.” Letra smiles when Finral glances at him, confused, because no, there are no houses near the edge. They had  _ been _ there, of course, he would have noticed them. “Not as far out as you two were when you first came here, of course. Just further out then this. We happen to live not far from here.”

Ratri nods, face serene as he stays just a few paces in front of them. “Patolli and William live at the very heart of the forest not far from Licht, so he can watch over them.”

“Licht is your king, isn’t he?” Finral asks, and Letra nods. “I think the old childhood stories were about the fae king, but it’s hard for me to remember. I didn’t put much stock into them because it seemed so stupid to me at the time. I assume it was all just lies.”

Letra laughs, the sound booming and loud and making Finral jolt in his arms, though the hold on him never loosens. “Are they still about how he kidnapped the prince and ate him? Oh, he certainly did, but not quite in the way human children would be whispering about.”

Finral’s face floods with heat and Langris squeaks, hiding his face in Ratri’s shoulder while the younger fae brother giggles. “You didn’t have to say it quite like  _ that, _ you know!”

“The two of you are too innocent for your own good.” Letra scoffs at him, and Finral scowls in answer. “If you ever want the story, you can always have it straight from the source.”

Oh… That is true, Patolli did offer to let them meet his fathers if they wanted to, and perhaps they would have if there was time. There is time now, Finral thinks, and he makes a note to ask Patolli or William about it when they meet with the two of them. But first, to assuage Langris’s concern, they meet with William to have him examine Finral’s stomach.

And maybe Finral won’t have nightmares about what would have happened if Damnatio did not step in. If they did not have fae friends willing to shield them and protect them.

The house that Letra and Ratri carry them to is situated high up in the branches, the wooden exterior done in a delicate sky blue covered in flower-dotted vines. Finral thinks they must grow here because of William and smiles fondly at the thought. The human man had been nothing but kind to him, and it looks like he has a lovely home. Well-deserved for a man who, for all intents and purposes, seems to have a heart of gold.

Patolli picked the perfect human companion. William might actually be an angel.

And William answers the door when Ratri flutters up to it. He must have sensed their mana when they approached. “Hello Ratri, Letra. I see you’ve brought— Oh! Finral, are you all right? All that blood— Never mind, come in right away.”

“He seems to be in good shape, William, no need to be concerned.” Letra lands lightly on the stoop after Ratri flutters inside, setting Finral on his feet. “Damnatio Kira has something of a healing spell up his sleeve now, but we just wanted you to be extra sure.”

“Please?” Langris asks, and William smiles so softly, so sweetly at him.

“Of course, Langris. I’m happy to do that.” William waves for Finral to follow him and he does, looking around what appears to be a living room as he does. Small and cozy, lots of light filtering in through the windows. “Come sit, Finral, I can check you right here.”

The couch is comfortable and Finral perches on it carefully, lifting up the bloodied remains of his shirt so William can see where the wound once was. “Took… A bit of a hit, aha…”

“Ledior Vaude tried to kill him,” Letra says, and Langris whines as he hurries over to Finral’s side, climbing up onto the couch beside him. “I believe Damnatio fixed it.”

William’s hand glows and Finral watches in amazement as green vines twist along his wrist and his slender fingers, sprouting a flower bulb in his palm with velvety black petals. “We’ll do everything in our power just to be sure that everything is fine with you, Finral.”

“Of course,” Finral agrees easily, tucking his arm around Langris’s shoulders, drawing his little brother up against his side. “I know you will. I trust you, William.”

With a touch so gentle it would make an angel weep, William presses the flower to Finral’s stomach, coaxing the vines to curl around Finral’s waist instead. “I’m sorry that awful man tried to hurt you. I never knew my father, and my mother… Well. You can see my face.”

“I can. It’s lovely,” Finral assures him, and he sputters a little when William blushes, impossible to hide against the milk pale of his cheeks. Finral  _ can _ see his face, of course, the lavender and violet markings that surround his beautiful eyes, and he can only imagine how he would have been treated for looking like that around judgmental people.

“Thank you. My family thought I was cursed.” William smiles, but the expression is pained and Finral wants to embrace him and assure him that his family was  _ shit. _ “Maybe I am, but if so, I hardly mind. I have the love of the most beautiful man I’ve ever met, which is more than most can say, and every beautiful fae in this forest seems to like me.”

Ratri is free and moves around the little table in front of the couch, throwing his arms around William’s shoulders and kissing him on the cheek. “We don’t like you, we  _ love _ you.”

“And I love all of you as well for being the family I never thought I would have.” William pats him on the shoulder and Ratri beams up at him. “Now, Finral, let’s check you out.”

The flower wilts and dies rapidly, and William gathers up the fallen petals with a pleased smile that tells Finral everything he needs to know about whatever Damnatio did. It gives him permission to swing around and drag Langris up into his arms, covering his face with kisses until the tears give way to soft giggles that tug at his heartstrings. This is how things should be, excellent company and his happy little brother warm and safe in his arms.

The sound of a throat clearing has them all glancing up toward a doorway that  _ probably _ leads to a kitchen? Maybe? Patolli stands there, watching them. “Having fun, you lot?”

“Finral was injured during the trial, so I was just checking on him.” William starts to stand but Patolli is at his side in an instant, pressing him back down into the cushions before dropping a kiss on top of Ratri’s head. “And your cousins came to visit as well.”

_ Cousins? That explains a lot. _ “Sorry to have to disturb the two of you, Patolli.”

“Not at all, no need to apologize.” Patolli is quick to smile as he perches on the arm of the couch, drawing William back against him, arm folding around slender shoulders as he cuddles his human closer. They make such a pretty picture. “And it’s four, but I’m sure our company won’t mind a little interruption. It keeps things exciting, after all.”

“You have guests over? I’m so sorry.” Of course they do. They’re such a lovely couple, they must entertain people here all the time with their charming, warm personalities—

Someone cuts him off, a new voice that Finral doesn’t recognize, one that has his head swiveling toward the doorway once again. “Please, don’t apologize! If you needed to come see our son-in-law to ensure that your injury was properly healed, then it was a necessary trip, and we’re happy to have you here. Are you two from Clover Kingdom?”

The man is young with a friendly smile and deep blue eyes that twinkle with curiosity as he walks over to the couch to offer a hand, gripping Finral’s with a firm yet warm grasp. His golden hair is cut short but already curling at the ends, and his mana feels… So  _ warm, _ so inviting, so instantly likable that Finral can barely process his own reaction to it. And he’s missing wings, so is likely another human picked up by the fae and brought here to live.

But what catches his attention the most is the other fae lingering in the doorway. The one who looks exactly like Patolli, with his hair braided back out of his face and magenta markings not only on his cheeks but also curling across his forehead. Whose wings are such a true and pale gold they look almost like sunlight captured into that shape rather than anything truly tangible. And he radiates a warmth and comfort unlike any other.

“My parents,” Patolli says while Finral can only blink wildly at the pair. “Licht, the king of the elves, and Lumiere Silvamillion Clover, the former prince of your kingdom.”

The missing prince, presumed dead, smiles at Finral. “Let’s all sit down and properly talk!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which i refuse to acknowledge that characters i like are no longer alive in canon


	20. Chapter 20

“That sounds dreadful,” Lumiere says, passing both Langris and Finral a warm mug of tea before he rests a hand gently on Finral’s shoulder. “The kingdom was never friendly to fae when I lived there, but to hear it has degraded so much… I can’t help but feel guilty.”

Langris sips his tea and curls against Finral’s chest, cheek resting against the soft, thin material of the shirt Patolli let him bother to replace his own. His brother really was soaked in blood from— Langris shakes his head, pressing himself against Finral’s torso as if trying to shield him from a blow that has already come and healed. No more and never again. The next person who tries to hurt Finral will taste Langris’s spatial magic.

And he doesn’t care if Finral says  _ he _ should be the one protecting Langris, because Finral is gentle and kind. And he deserves to be protected more than anyone else.

Licht shakes his head, perched carefully on the arm of the chair Lumiere occupies. For a moment, his expression is so sharply and suddenly sad. “It isn’t your fault, my love. The choice I made is what has brought this result forward. Blame no one but me.”

“Neither of you had a choice,” Patolli says firmly, and Langris senses that this must have been an old argument for the two of them. “It was that or death. You made the correct choice as far as I am concerned. Every human born after that has the choice to simply not believe old prejudices for the sake of a story most of them were not alive to witness.”

Lumiere’s smile is wry, but warm and gentle. “I can’t say I regret  _ living, _ exactly, but it does hurt my heart to know that other fae have been mistreated as a result of us.”

“May I ask what… Exactly happened?” Finral sips his tea and Langris sets his own mug on the table, disinterested in it as he wraps his arms around his brother’s waist and hugs him tighter. He looks  _ fine _ but it was only moments ago that he was injured so gravely, that Langris’s hands were awash in his blood. Never again. _ Never. _

“What do the stories say? What awful things did I do to him?” Licht asks, and his voice is dry now, devoid of humor as he combs his fingers through Lumiere’s hair.

Ratri pipes up from the other chair, having pushed Letra down into it before climbing into his lap. “Probably the same things they’ve always said. Maybe you’ve finally turned into a devil in the latest installment, but you won’t let us go around to check.”

Licht’s lips twist into a frown. “It isn’t safe. And do not even joke about such things.”

“Um…” Langris clears his throat and Finral sets his own mug down, his arms enfolding Langris with the warmth and comfort he is slowly growing used to. That he could have had this whole time, really… But the past is the past. They have the present and future to make up for all that lost time. “Usually… Nothing nice? They say that you killed him or kidnapped him or something. But he doesn’t look dead or unhappy.”

Lumiere laughs and sets his tea down, then steals Licht’s mug despite the fae grumbling softly at him. “Well, of course not. I wasn’t kidnapped or killed. Though I very much would have died if he did nothing to save me. I know a thing or two about dangerous wounds.”

Though Licht opens his mouth to say something, he only manages a surprised squeak. Lumiere catches him by the arm instead and tumbles him into his lap, wings fluttering madly but never colliding with any hard part of the chair. Lumiere is gentle with catching him, easily supporting his weight, laughing when golden fae dust showers him as Licht gets comfortable in his lap. They fit together so easily, two halves of a whole shaped with the impression of the other so that even Langris can tell they belong together.

He wonders if he looks like that with Finral. If anyone else could ever see that.

“It’s still interesting to me that Zagred was such an integral part of the story and yet no one seems to know he even existed aside from the fae,” Lumiere muses brightly.

Immediately, Licht’s body stiffens before he folds himself against Lumiere, protective in a way that Langris flushes seeing, because he’s doing the same thing with Finral. “Every day I wish I could forget that bastard existed, and every day he persists on.”

“Zagred was a devil,” Lumiere explains, and Langris frowns at him, then stops. Devils were a far rarer mention as children, but there were still a few stories about them. “Anything bad you’ve heard about their kind is probably true. They’re far more malevolent creatures.”

Patolli shudders slightly, and William turns to him, resting his forehead against the fae’s neck. “I remember him. Always creeping around the edge of the forest like a wolf looking for prey. It was horrible, but at least he could never come inside.”

“So devils exist,” Finral says, and both father and son nod to him. “That’s… I didn’t know.”

Licht sits up in Lumiere’s lap, but makes no effort to climb off of him. “They do exist, and Zagred in particular was far worse than most. They have their own goals, their own desires to manifest within our world, but Zagred already achieved that. I don’t know how.”

“You don’t exactly go about asking devils questions if you find one,” Letra says, and Langris bites back a nervous giggle as he tangles his hands up in Finral’s shirt.

“Talking to him would have been far too dangerous for me, anyway. He had… Designs on me, though again, I can’t know why.” Licht shudders and Lumiere embraces him, dropping a kiss on his bare shoulder. “I wasn’t interested, of course. I didn’t even realize it was what he wanted at the time, which made it  _ idiotic _ for me to leave the forest as often as I did.”

Patolli clears his throat softly and his expression is almost apologetic as he turns to Langris and Finral. “Apologies for them being absolutely unable to start at the beginning of the story. Papa came to the forest looking for fae, and it was Father who answered him.”

“It was a long time ago, give us old folk some credit,” Lumiere says, and Langris balks at the idea of thinking of them as  _ old _ even though he knows they must be. “But yes, I did. I came here often just wanting to catch a glimpse. Of course I never went too close, hard to know exactly what traps were waiting behind the trees. But humans who went in never came out, so I assumed that there was something that was holding them there.”

Licht nods, and now he cuddles in closer to Lumiere, wrapping his arms around slender shoulders and nuzzling against his neck. “Children were taken in and fostered, adults with malevolent intent were killed. You can only have so many attempted genocides against your people before you realize it may be safer to stay sequestered somewhere secure.”

“I’m sorry,” Langris murmurs, because what else is there to say to that?

“I was curious,” Lumiere says, and his smile is fond, wistful… And so sad for a moment. The story must be a painful one to provoke such a reaction among humans even to this day. “Secre used to tell me to stop wasting time but I’d come by every evening with the hopes to catch even just a glance. And one night, the most beautiful fae came out of the trees.”

Licht smiles slowly, his wings giving a delicate flutter as he rubs his thumb along Lumiere’s shoulder. “I told myself it was necessary to understand why this human came so often, but I was just as curious. Most stayed away. None just came by to look so often.”

“I had so many questions I wanted to ask. So many things I wanted to know, but the moment I saw him, most of those thoughts fled entirely.” Lumiere laughs and the sound rings through the small house, bright and cheerful. Not marred by the melancholy of his tone at all. “But I suppose that’s how it goes for humans, isn’t it? We’re so ordinary compared to a fae. Have you seen an ugly fae, yet, Finral? Because I haven’t.”

Finral shakes his head, his hand tracing a path along Langris’s spine that makes Langris shiver— And he wonders how Finral felt when he looked at him. Every time he looks at him. He knows Finral loves him, of course, but… “Not a single fae I’ve seen has been anything less than beautiful. Whether they have wings or not, they’re all lovely.”

Langris bites back a whine and buries his face in his brother’s shoulder, not sure how openly affectionate he should be in this room. Letra and Ratri know, of course. But he doesn’t know if the others do or how they would react if they found out.

Probably they don’t care if Letra and Ratri are Patolli’s cousins and Licht’s nephews, but better safe than sorry. Better safe than risking Finral unnecessarily again.

Lumiere beams at them both. “So you understand how I felt, then, when I saw him. We met often after that, whenever the two of us could steal a moment alone with each other.”

“Others noticed,” Patolli says, settling his hand across William’s stomach, fingers lazily curling in the loose white material of William’s shirt. “I noticed, of course. Raia-san did, and some others. But the human seemed harmless enough. He kept his distance.”

Licht sits up straighter in Lumiere’s arms, and Langris watches in awe as sunlight spilling in through the windows glitters on his wings. They’re an even brighter, more vivid gold than Patolli’s if that is even possible. “But it was dangerous of me to do what I did just the same. It drew Zagred’s attention, and one night… He came for me. He’d been waiting.”

“And he is no more,” Lumiere says, and Licht nods, though his expression is still troubled, as if he does not quite believe that. “But the battle was long and dangerous, and I was badly injured during it. So what happened after was because of that. When I woke up, I was in the fae forest. And I haven’t left these trees since that night.”

“Were there no healers in Clover who could have helped?” Finral asks, and Langris thinks of the healers who came to check on him every time he was ill, and shudders despite himself.

The only altruistic healer Langris has ever met is William, which is really saying something.

To this, though, Licht only smiles sadly. “There were, and I took him to them, and they were not fast enough, not strong enough. He was bleeding out under their hands, so I…”

_ Bleeding out… _ Langris bites his lip and tucks his face against the side of Finral’s neck, not wanting to think about it. To see it in his mind’s eye, though he can. His own hands smeared with crimson, unbearably hot, and Finral kept saying those  _ things _ to him, those pitiful words as if… As if Langris did not love him and had not long since forgiven him.

“Father brought him back here to us. To Fana, specifically, because she was the strongest healer at the time. Before my William joined us.” Patolli tilts his head to press a kiss to the side of William’s neck, and lavender eyes flutter shut silently in answer. “And she agreed to heal him, and did, but… Our laws were strict at the time. Humans could not be here and leave. If we allowed Lumiere to leave, then a price had to be paid.”

Langris looks up at him, at Licht, and he understands, because he remembers almost being pried out of his brother’s arms. “Then… You’d have to die for bringing him here?”

“Yes, little one,” Licht answers, and Langris shivers at the thought. The thought of trying to do the right thing and paying for it, and he clutches his brother just the littlest bit tighter. “Even then, there were plenty of fae who were upset at the idea of Lumiere leaving, but they understood it was my fault for bringing him here in the first place.”

Lumiere sighs softly, wistfully, and kisses Licht on the cheek. “But I elected to stay, not only to keep him from dying, but because ultimately I’d wanted to be with him the most. If I had to make a choice… It was a difficult one, but I was prepared to make it.”

“From the prince of a kingdom to the prince consort of the fae king,” Licht muses, and Lumiere laughs, as if the thought of it still delights him. “And a father to boot.”

“Now,  _ that _ I have no regrets about. How awful, to be married to the most beautiful man to walk this earth, and to have a beautiful son neatly packaged in.” Lumiere’s smile is infectious, and even Patolli ducks his head a little behind William’s shoulder at the words. “As I was saying, though, Langris… I really do apologize for what you went through. Part of that was at least my doing in leaving the kingdom with no explanation as to why.”

Licht shakes his head, and Langris can just tell this is an argument and a conversation they have had a thousand times over. “You did nothing wrong. The one who was in the wrong was me, and now my people are suffering as a result. I did see this coming, but…”

“But there was very little you could do to effectively stop it,” Letra says, and Langris twists around in Finral’s arms to look at him, watching him comb his fingers through Ratri’s hair while Ratri drinks his tea. “Our kind doesn’t stay away from humanity. Can’t say I understand why, but I suppose the two of you are as good example as any.”

Patolli cocks his head, raises an eyebrow, and smiles so slyly that Langris blinks, glancing between the two of them. “Can’t say you understand why? Well… All in due time, I’m sure you’ve heard all the jokes about how our family is helplessly drawn to humans.”

“I doubt it,” Letra snaps back, but Patolli only shakes his head and smiles.

“Are the two of you going to be staying with us for a while?” Licht asks, and Langris shakes his head immediately, because they aren’t. He wants to go back to Clover Kingdom.

Finral should be with the Black Bulls, and Langris  _ wants _ to be with them. They’re going to be his Magic Knight squad when he gets his grimoire, and he meant it when he said that he was going to protect the kingdom at his brother’s side. Nothing is going to change that. The only thing that has changed is that Langris knows Finral needs to be protected now, but he can easily hone his spatial magic abilities to do just that.

No one can lay a hand on Finral if Langris makes their hands disappear.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Finral asks, glancing down at him with a small smile.

If Langris says he wants to stay and Finral wants to go home, Finral will stay with him. Knowing that is exactly why he nods. “I’m sure. We can stay the night to make sure you’re  _ really _ all right, but I want to go back. You’re supposed to introduce me to the Black Bulls.”

“I did tell you I would, didn’t I? All right. One more night here, and then we can go back.” Finral leans down and kisses him on the forehead, and Langris… Wants more than that. He wants to kiss Finral properly, but in private. “Is there somewhere we can stay—”

Letra interrupts them. “I told you that we had a surprise first. Now that you’re in one piece, we can show it to you. Unless you want to hang around here longer.”

“It’s already prepared?” William asks, then laughs softly when Ratri nods vigorously, already dropping his cup off on the table as he stands. “Well, I know you told me that you’d have it done by the time they came back here, but I didn’t think you were serious.”

“We wanted to be sure they always felt welcome every time they chose to come back,” Ratri insists, and his smile is almost blinding as he turns it on Langris.

Not for the first time, Langris’s heart trips a little at the sight of that smile. Letra and Ratri did not have to be so kind to them, watching over them and making sure they were all right. There was no reason for them to come to Clover with them, no reason for Letra to offer the speed of his own spatial magic, the reassurance they both would be safe no matter what happened. Maybe because Langris is a fae, this is important to them. But Finral is not, and yet they were just as starkly protective of him as they were Langris.

Going from having nothing and no one to having not only Finral but also these fae brothers is too much for Langris to process all at once. Maybe another day, he can try.

“I can carry you again,” Ratri says, half-bounding up to the couch as he leans directly into Langris’s personal space. “It’s not that long of a journey but it’s still very high up, and I don’t think you’d want to climb that ladder on your own after what a day it’s been.”

Letra rolls his eyes, his smile fond as he stretches out a hand to catch Ratri by the back of his shirt. “Calm down, calm down. I’m sure both of them are just fine.”

“As long as nii-san is okay, I’m fine,” Langris agrees, and Finral’s arms draw him a little closer, hands smoothing up and down his back. The day has been long and short, and Langris admittedly just wants somewhere dark and quiet to reflect. “Where are we going?”

“It really is a surprise. We can’t tell you.” Ratri twists free of Letra’s hand and reaches for Langris, twining their fingers together and giving him a gentle tug but not quite pulling him out of Finral’s lap. “We worked really hard on it. We think you’ll like it.”

Langris blinks at him, then looks up at Finral before allowing himself to slide out of his brother’s lap. “All right, I want to see then. Especially if you worked hard.”

“Lan-chan is so cute,” Ratri muses, and Langris squeaks as he’s picked up off of his feet as if he weighs nothing, easily buoyed in the fae boy’s arms. “Onii-chan, come  _ on _ .”

“You better make sure you don’t drop him. William isn’t going to be very happy with you if he has to put the boy’s bones back together,” Letra says, and Langris hides his face against Ratri’s shoulder. Broken bones. He’s never had one of those before.

But he’d never been able to  _ do _ anything where he might break something.

“I’m not going to drop him. He barely weighs anything. We need to get them food when we drop them off,” Ratri says, and Letra makes a noise at him before standing.

Food sounds nice. Everything in the fae forest has been delicious because all of it is food Langris is actually capable of eating, and he looks forward to something that might settle his stomach. Between Finral being sick and now all of this, all Langris really wants to do is have some peace and quiet. Remind himself that Finral is fine, because they have friends with a vested interest in ensuring that both of them are alive and well.

Langris glances up when he feels  _ something _ near and freezes when he finds Licht standing very close to them, far closer than he was just a moment ago. How fast is he? “There’s something in the southern forest that’s meant to help with weight gain, isn’t there?”

“I believe so,” Letra says, and Langris huffs at him when the fae ruffles his hair playfully. “I can head down there and look after we get them settled in with something they can eat right now. Langris really is too small for a fae his size.”

“He is still on the thinner side,” Finral muses, and Langris scowls at him.  _ Traitor. _

“You’re one to talk, human boy.” Letra catches Finral by the shoulder and yanks him off the couch so hard that Finral almost trips over his own feet, stumbling forward. He stays up because Letra doesn’t let go of him. “Look at you. What were you doing, starving yourself out of concern for him? You shouldn’t be. It’s a bad look on both of you.”

Langris frowns, twisting around in Ratri’s arms to look up at his brother. “Nii-san, you’re supposed to  _ eat. _ Why weren’t you taking care of yourself?”

“As I said—” Patolli starts, but William presses slender fingers to his lips with a smile.

“I’ll bring something back for  _ both _ of you,” Letra huffs, and he picks Finral up even more easily than he did the first time, able to easily balance his weight with seemingly no real effort. Fae must be strong… Or they both really are just as underfed as everyone makes it sound. “For now, the surprise. You both probably want to rest after  _ that, _ anyway.”

_ That. _ Yes. “Then stop arguing with each other and take us to see the surprise.”

“You heard him!” Ratri says, already turning to carry Langris to the door. “Now hold on tight, okay? It’s higher up than this, but it was the best place we could find.”

_ Find for what? _ But Langris keeps the question to himself knowing Ratri will tell him to wait.

His stomach drops when Ratri walks through the door and simply  _ steps _ off of the stoop, the air whistling past Langris’s ears as he clings to the fae boy. And then his stomach tosses and turns when the air gathers under Ratri’s wings and he shoots them back up into the air once more, soaring past the house just as Letra leaps easily out with Finral clinging to him; Langris picks up his brother’s soft shriek and giggles nervously.

Ratri smiles down at him, and Langris hides in his shoulder again. “I promise I’m not going to drop you, Langris. I’ve never dropped anyone before. I’m very strong.”

“You’ve had to carry people before?” Langris is curious, even though it isn’t any of his business. But Ratri is kind, and has been nothing but forthcoming.

“Other fae who are too sick or weak to fly but who still need help. We take care of our own the best that we can, and that includes you.” Ratri soars up higher through the trees and Langris wonders if there are heights even he cannot reach. And Langris won’t ever find out on his own, so he needs to ask sometime. “I’m glad you aren’t too scared to go back to Clover. I don’t think the older fae feel the same way. They want you to stay here.”

“I get it. They’re scared for me.” And they have every right to be afraid for him after what happened. After how hurt he was, how sick he was, how desperate to be taken care of he was. “But I want to be a Magic Knight, and I’m going to do that with nii-san.”

Ratri’s smile widens into a grin, and his eyes shine in the sunlight spilling in through the leaves. “I bet you’re going to be an amazing Magic Knight. Just don’t forget to come visit us, because we want to be your friends, too, and that means we want to see you.”

Langris’s heart gives a small, pitiful little throb. “Of course! I’ll come see you all the time.”

“You better. Onii-chan can always bring me to you if you won’t come see me.” Ratri winks at him, and Langris can only imagine that, the fae brothers showing up sometime in the dead of the night because they’d want to be as disruptive and noticeable as possible.

There are more fae houses tucked into the trees, spread out across wide limbs, tucked under the leaves. All different colors and shapes and sizes, and Langris even notices one that looks to be encrusted with jewels or crystals of some kind. Like nothing else he’s seen so far, and definitely unique enough to catch his eye and hold it.

Ratri catches him looking. “Oh, I’ll have to introduce you to Fana and Mars sometime. She’s a lot friendlier than the Fana you’ve actually met, and it only gets a  _ little _ confusing that they have the same name. Naming your child after someone who won’t die is a choice.”

“The Fana I’ve met is older fae, isn’t she?” Langris asks, and Ratri nods as they flutter past another impossible tall tree. “What do you mean when you say  _ older _ fae?”

“Licht is over five hundred years old, and I think Fana, Raia, and Vetto are around that age. Maybe Fana and Vetto are a little younger, but what’s a decade compared to a hundred years, you know?” Ratri stops at another tree, and Langris looks up to see another whimsical little house tucked into the branches. This one is a deeper blue than William’s had been, and looks… Less worn? Less old? “We’re here! Onii-chan, you’re so slow!”

Letra catches up with them at a moment’s notice, his arms still carefully holding Finral aloft. “Funny how you think to this day that I’m just slower than you when I’ve always flown back to make sure you don’t fall. You can’t catch me with your magic, Ratri.”

“I could try, but you might not end up in one piece.” Ratri flutters up to the house, setting Langris carefully on the little porch tucked back onto the branch. None of it hangs over open air, Langris notices. “Here you are, home sweet home! Surprise, Langris!”

Langris blinks up at him, watching him come to land carefully on the porch before turning to the house. “I… I don’t catch your meaning. What do you mean, home?”

“If you two are going to stay here for any length of time, even to visit, it behooves you to have a home of your own, don’t you think?” Letra sets Finral down carefully, then perches on the porch railing, wings spread wide to catch the afternoon light.

“You… You got us a  _ house _ as a surprise?” Finral swings around to look at the door, then back to Letra. Langris can only stare at him, at Ratri, at both of them. “Letra, this is really too much even for how kind the two of you have been. I can’t— How did you even—”

Pale brows furrow in a scowl before Letra stretches out his hand to smack Finral on the shoulder. “Shut up. Listen to yourself. This was too much? Where were you going to stay?”

“William can grow them from the trees,” Ratri says, and Langris blinks at him, because that doesn’t even  _ seem _ like it can be true. “What? He grew up here. Of course his magic shaped itself to living in our community. Just like you learn new spells when you fight.”

“The only thing he couldn’t do is paint it and furnish it, but that wasn’t difficult. Like I said, we’re a community, but we did most of the work.” Letra pats the railing he’s perched on. “And requested this. Most houses don’t have these, but we thought you two might like to come out here and sit and watch the others fly by sometimes.”

“It’s too much,” Langris murmurs, but Ratri shakes his head, stepping forward and putting his hands on Langris’s cheeks. They’re warm, so warm. “Ratri, you didn’t have to—”

“You both must have gone through a lot more than even we know about so far that the first thing you do as kindness is balk.” The warmth radiates from his fingers until Langris feels like he may be blushing at the words, the proximity, and maybe he is. “We wanted to do this for you, because we care about you two. Because you deserved to have a space that’s  _ your _ home here, too. You aren’t just guests. You can live here.”

Langris has to fight not to squirm, not used to this kind of contact, this kind of tenderness from someone who isn’t Finral. He wonders if he might ever be used to it. “Ratri…”

Letra slides off of the railing, throwing an arm around Finral’s shoulders and dragging him to the door of the house. “It isn’t worth arguing about, you know. We did this for you. If you need time to get used to it, take that time. But this is still going to be yours.”

“And it didn’t… It wasn’t an inconvenience?” Finral demands, throwing his hands out against the door to stop them going forward any further. He looks so taken aback by all of this.

Admittedly, Langris feels the same. The day has been far too long for his liking.

“No. You two aren’t an inconvenience for us. Just like it wasn’t an inconvenience to go with you to Clover so we could be there in case something happened.” Letra abruptly spins Finral around, so that Finral’s back is against the door. “Look at me.  _ You _ and  _ Langris _ are not an inconvenience. He’s one of us and you’re his brother. If you need something, we’ll help. If you _ want _ something, we’ll help. You both deserve to know someone cares about you. Know that we do. Now, come inside so we can show you the house. I think you’ll like it.”

Before Langris can react, Ratri leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead, then rocks back on his heels and smiles. His hands drop, one taking Langris by the hand. “Come on! I think you’ll like having a place of your own when you want the space. You’ll like it.”

Langris doesn’t argue with him. He lets Ratri lead him to the door and makes a note that he does, in fact, need to get used to letting other people care about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiny fae house in the trees


	21. Chapter 21

Finral thought he would finally have a house of his own only after he found someone to marry and settle down with in the far-off and distant future.

He takes in the light wooden walls and floors, the matching furniture and the familiar glowing mushrooms that seem to sprout from the walls himself as he makes his way through the structure. How William can create such homes is beyond him and his understanding of magic, but he finds himself awed as he brushes his fingers along the wall. The mana of the tree feels light and friendly and beautiful in a way nothing else ever has, something that reminds Finral that this forest is alive in its own way.

“We know you’re going to be living in Clover mostly,” Ratri says, trailing him through the house as Finral examines each room with a helpless curiosity. “But we also know you might come back to visit, and it really would just be easier to have a place of your own.”

The small fae boy smiles up at Finral, his blue wings glittering softly in the natural light spilling through all the windows. “You two just decided this all on your own?”

“It was mostly onii-chan,” Ratri says, and Finral glances around, but Letra’s mana is nowhere to be felt this time. “He already went to go get food like he said he would, which is convenient. I can’t embarrass him about how sentimental he is when it comes to you two.”

“Sentimental? Why would that be?” Finral pushes open a door, finding a bathroom waiting behind it, and then tugs it shut again with a nod. He needs to learn the layout, because he does want to come visit here as much as Langris wants to.  _ Especially _ if Langris wants to.

Ratri giggles and rocks on the balls of his feet, eyes narrowing slightly as they glint with an emotion Finral cannot quite place. “He’s difficult to explain. He can be silly sometimes.”

“Silly, but he seems like a good brother.” That is something Finral is sure of. He thinks he’d know just from a few interactions, but they’ve spent quite a bit of time with Letra and Ratri since coming to the forest. It feels nice to know people here.

“Letra onii-chan is a very good big brother. He cares a lot. Sometimes too much, and then I tease him for it.” Ratri’s eyes twinkle with mischief before he takes Finral abruptly by the hand, tugging him down the short hallway. “Come on! You need to see your new bedroom.”

“My bedroom or  _ our _ bedroom?” Finral asks, though he is certain he knows the answer.

“What a dumb question. I know you don’t need two rooms.” Ratri huffs at him and drags him faster, and Finral laughs as he follows behind the fae boy.

Langris has already found the bedroom, more dimly lit than the rest of the house with the windows covered by layers of cloth. The mushrooms on the walls glow softly, providing a familiar ambiance that reminds Finral of William’s healing houses and how comforting and safe it felt there. If he had to hazard a guess, he would assume either all bedrooms are commonly like this, or the brothers simply wanted to give them something familiar.

All in all, the most anyone has ever done for Finral. This is too much to accept.

“The bed’s comfy,” Langris informs him, perched on top of the neatly-made bed with his plush cat sitting in his lap. He looks so tired that Finral wants to tuck him under the covers and close out all the light so he can sleep. “We should take a nap after we eat.”

“If you’re tired, you should!” Ratri lets go of Finral’s hand, hopping up onto the bed and wriggling up to sit next to Langris. They make a pretty picture side by side.

It also reminds him of the memories they had seen, Langris’s baby fae wings removed before they were anything he could have used or even seen for himself. Langris should have wings as resplendent as Ratri’s, as large and as beautiful, gleaming in the light, leaving sprays of glitter every time he flaps them. Instead all he has are scars, and Finral knows in his heart there was nothing he could have done to change that.

Still, he wishes he could have. He wishes Langris could have had a normal life as a fae.

“We have some clothes you can wear too,” Ratri says. “They’re mine and onii-chan’s, but you’re both about our size, and we don’t mind letting you borrow them for now.”

“You two do an awful lot for us. I appreciate it, though.” Finral joins them on the bed for lack of anything better to do, and Langris immediately crawls closer to him.

The reassuring warmth of his brother’s weight in his arms soothes the tension still lingering in his shoulders. Finral buries his face in the soft chestnut hair and closes his eyes for a moment, drinking in Langris’s closeness and the way his slim arms slip around Finral’s neck to pull him even closer. If he wanted to, he could just flop over on the mattress with Langris in his arms and hold him for as long as he wants to. Ratri wouldn’t judge him for it and nobody else is really here to stop him.

So he does, tumbling down on the softness of the mattress, smiling when Langris giggles against the side of his neck. “I suppose I might be a little tired myself.”

“You got hurt. Of course you’re tired.” Langris wriggles a little against the front of his body, as if trying to gesture to Finral’s midsection as best he can like this.

Small hands slip under Finral’s head and lift it from the mattress, and he glances up just in time to see Ratri sliding around behind him. When he’s let go, his head is resting on something else soft, slightly firmer than the mattress. And then he realizes, face burning, that his head is resting on Ratri’s thighs because he’s now lying in the fae boy’s lap.

“Don’t mind me,” Ratri murmurs, his hands lighting on Finral’s temples as lightly as butterflies. “I just want to make sure you can properly relax.”

The familiar warmth tingles under Finral’s skin as Ratri gently touches his face, and he realizes he never stopped to inquire about it. “How does your kind do that? Rill’s done it for me, too, but I could never figure out quite how he was managing it.”

“Any fae can do it. Langris can probably do it, too, but I imagine he’s never had anyone teach him how.” Ratri’s fingers trace a path down Finral’s cheek, and he closes his eyes as he tries to envision what it might look like. “It doesn’t work on other fae as well as it works on your kind, though. Unless they’re really small, and then it works like a charm.”

“Must be very helpful when dealing with crying babies,” Finral muses, and Ratri giggles.

“Sometimes it helps having special tricks. Babies cry when they’re scared or hungry, but sometimes they just cry because they want to see who runs to pick them up first.” Ratri’s fingers brush over his lips and Finral shivers slightly at the way that feels, the way they seemingly linger for just a moment before drifting down his chin. “Do you remember when Langris was a baby? You’re quite a bit older than him, so I imagine you do.”

“No embarrassing stories, Finral-nii,” Langris murmurs against his neck, and Finral chuckles as he combs his fingers through Langris’s hair again, twisting the locks around and around.

Ratri makes a sound of protest, his fingers drifting down the sides of Finral’s neck and making him shiver. “Why not? I have plenty of embarrassing stories about onii-chan.”

“And you had best keep them all to yourself.” The air around them  _ shivers _ and Finral cracks open his eyelids to see Letra stepping from one of his portals, which means he has definitely been in this room before.  _ Of course, they made this. _ “What have you three been talking about to get to this? Never mind. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Onii-chan is back,” Ratri singsongs, and Finral sits up quickly when Letra’s gaze lands on him, not wanting to upset him. He  _ knows _ how close the two of them are.

Langris huffs and snuggles in closer to his chest. “Don’t move around so much, it’s jarring.”

“By all means, don’t let me interrupt.” Letra rolls his eyes and Finral lets slip a nervous laugh as he helps Langris adjust on his lap. “I have fruit. You’re going to eat as much of this as you can stomach, and then we’ll let you rest. Honestly, Langris at least has an excuse for being underfed, but you should have been taking better care of yourself.”

A hot rush of shame sets Finral’s face alight and he ducks his head, hiding behind Langris’s hair. He knows he should have at least taken better care of his own health, but it was difficult to do so when he knew what kind of conditions his brother was being raised in. Not that it serves as an excuse of any kind, but he  _ knows, _ and he doesn’t need to be told again that he failed at something important. He knows how many times he’s failed.

Maybe he’s just… Overly sensitive today. But it is hard not to be, given everything. Given seeing the extent of Langris’s pain right in front of his own eyes.

“Ease off, Letra-nii,” Ratri says, and Finral feels a small, warm weight at his back. “He knows, but we’d be better off just helping them both get better, I think.”

Silence lingers in the room until Finral dares to peek up from Langris’s hair, watching what he senses is the tailend of a complicated flare of emotions before Letra finally sighs and shrugs. “Right, right. Sorry, Finral. I think you’ve heard enough from all of us.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s fair to point out the mistakes I’ve made.” Finral kisses Langris on the top of the head, pretending not to see his little brother’s concerned expression. “Besides, you’re right. I’m a Magic Knight and I need to be taking better care of myself.”

“And we’re going to help you do that.” Letra tosses something onto the bed— A bag Finral hadn’t noticed slung across his shoulder. He must have picked it up either right before leaving or wherever he went. “Fruits, like I said. Eat and then you two can rest.”

“Are you going to go back home?” Langris reaches for the bag and Finral watches curiously, the fruit he pulls from within it isn’t one that Finral is familiar with. Vaguely apple-shaped but a bright, sunshine yellow instead. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Ratri giggles; Finral feels slender arms curl around his neck from behind. “We’ll stay as long as you’re comfortable with us being here, won’t we, onii-chan? We like you two.”

“Yes. Very much so.” Letra sinks down onto the bed, close enough that his knee almost brushes Finral’s where he sits with his little brother in his lap. One pale hand disappears into the shadowed contents of the bag once more, and the fruit he retrieves is a rich, royal blue. “The skin is edible. Eat, Finral. You deserve just as much care as Langris does.”

“I keep telling him that,” Langris says, and Finral blushes despite himself.

“We’ll teach you both how to do it properly. And that starts with food.” Letra holds the fruit out and Finral takes it obediently, bringing it to his lips to take a bite.

The fruit is tart and sweet, the texture soft and pulpy and sending juice spilling over Finral’s tongue. It isn’t dissimilar to some fruits he’s eaten in the past but the taste is just off enough that he’d know without seeing it that this was nothing like he’d ever had before. Still, it’s delicious as everything here has been, and Letra gives him a satisfied nod before dumping the contents of the bag onto the bed. Bright fruits of all different colors, some so vivid they look almost alien lying there on the simple bedcover.

“You really should eat as much as you can. The worse your health is, the worse your grasp on mana is going to be when you need to fight.” Letra moves to sit back against the headboard of the bed, and even with his wings folded, they still span the entirety of it.

“And that’s important for Magic Knights,” Ratri says, small chin coming to rest on Finral’s shoulder. “You’ll come back and visit us lots, right? When you have to go back?”

Finral swallows the fruit in his mouth, the taste tingling slightly on his tongue. “Of course we will. It might be more difficult when actively dealing with missions, but we’ll make time to come back and see you two. Or you could always come visit us. Rill knows the way.”

“I suppose he does. I’d almost forgotten about that. How often does he come see you?” Ratri makes no move to untangle himself from being wrapped around Finral, and Finral is… Slightly surprised that Letra doesn’t seem terribly upset about this prospect.

“Pretty often, I’d say. He’s mostly just coming to visit Charmy.” How taboo is it, what Rill does? Finral has no grasp on that. Both the fae king and his son have human companions at their sides, but those humans tend to be living within the boundaries of the forest.

And he wonders if that changes anything, having them here. Surely it must be safer for the fae, but do Lumiere and William ever want to go back to the human realm?

Probably not. Not when fae can be treated so horribly by the humans who live there.

“Is she someone in your squad?” Letra asks, and Finral nods as he takes another bite of fruit, savoring the flavor of it. Maybe they can take some of these back with them when they return to the Black Bulls. “Interesting, then. Rill’s always kind of wandered in and out of the forest for  _ inspiration, _ or something. I can’t say I really understand that.”

“He strikes me as very kind but a little eccentric, must just be the artist type.” It’s a joke, but Finral doesn’t know how well Letra and Rill get along with each other, or if they do at all. There are  _ so _ many fae within the forest, far more than he ever would have guessed.

Ratri hums, the gentle vibration against his back making Finral smile softly. “Well, that’s good, then, that your squad doesn’t mind fae. That’s probably not true across the board.”

“I doubt that it is. I’m sure there are squads who don’t like them at all.” Not that he can think of any off the top of his head… Maybe the Silver Eagles, because the Silvas in generally have always seemed so hateful to him. “But we don’t mind in the Black Bulls.”

“It’s not totally surprising that that’s true. I’d expect no less from a squad like yours,” Letra says, and Finral cocks his head. What is that supposed to mean, exactly?

“Your captain and vice captain seem very kind,” Ratri says. “So it just makes sense.”

Yami, yes, but  _ Nacht _ seems kind? “Well, Captain Yami is… He’s a very good man, you know? He takes in those who don’t really have anywhere else to go and he believes in them. And that means a lot, especially when your own family really doesn’t believe in you.”

Langris shifts on his lap, half-twisting around to look up at him, and Finral wipes a bit of juice off of his chin, then sucks it off of his own thumb. Slightly sour. “I hope you know  _ I _ believe in you no matter what… What they said about you. You’re really amazing.”

“Of course. And I know you’re being honest with me, because you wouldn’t lie to me about that.” Finral licks his lips free of juice and then presses a kiss to Langris’s forehead, then his cheek, smiling when his little brother giggles. “Captain’s probably going to work you to the bone when you’re feeling better, but I promise it’s just because he knows you have potential and wants you to reach it. He can be kind of mean about it, but he’s a good man.”

Letra clicks his tongue. “You don’t seem to have nice things to say about your vice captain.”

“Nacht-san is… Difficult. He can be very mean sometimes, it’s difficult to know what he’s thinking or feeling.” Finral takes another bite of fruit when he notices how hard Letra is staring at him, and the fae gives him a curt, pleased nod. “But he’s not a bad person, just hard to talk to sometimes. I think he and Yami-san… Get along really well, but I could just be seeing things where there are none. It would be kind of hard for me to tell.”

_ Not really. _ There was no exaggerating the way they were sitting together, the way Yami had a hand pressed against Nacht’s back. The man is not  _ that _ touchy or that affectionate, more likely to ruffle someone’s hair than any extended, meaningful contact. And the two of them have known each other the longest, because Nacht was already with Yami when Yami stumbled upon Henry in the first place. And Finral  _ knows _ that, because he asked once.

Nosy to ask, maybe, but Nacht is mysterious and quiet enough to warrant a little extra attention… And Maybe Finral thought that Nacht hated him when Yami brought him home.

“Some people have reasons for being like that, I imagine.” Letra nudges him with his foot and Finral huffs but keeps eating his fruit down to the pulp. “As with most, just give him time and understanding and I’m sure he’ll come around to being nicer.”

“And he came to the trial, so he must care,” Ratri observes, and Finral nods. It does make sense, Yami could have just come alone but Nacht had been with him there.

Letra smirks slightly. “It’s good to have people who care to back you up. Now eat as much as you can so you two can rest. And if you’re ready to leave in the morning, we’ll take you to the edge of the forest so you can. And if not… Well, we’ll occupy your time until you are.”

“If you wake up when it’s still dark, we can show you something beautiful,” Ratri adds, and Finral glances back at him while Langris hums in interest. “But only if you wake up normally. You shouldn’t wake up  _ just _ to see it, and you can really see it any evening she’s interested.”

“But no hints,” Letra says. “And rest is more important, so prioritize that.”

Finral doesn’t bother telling them both that falling asleep this early in the day means they will both definitely be awake by the time night comes. Instead, he just eats as much fruit as he can stomach before the fae brothers take their leave so he and Langris can rest. This house is theirs, this space is theirs, and he loves the peace and quiet of having it be just the two of them, the warmth of Langris snuggling against his chest.

A hand touches his stomach and he glances down to see Langris tracing his fingers along the front of Finral’s shirt. “What is it, sweetheart? Have something you want to say?”

“I’m just glad nii-san is all right.” Langris peeks up at him, then leans up to steal a kiss, swift and sweet and warming Finral all the way through. “And thank you for… Everything. For saving me. For being there for me. You’re the best big brother ever.”

“And you’re the best little brother.” Finral kisses him again, tasting Langri’s giggle against his lips, the sweetness of fruit juice lingering on his skin. “Now let’s get some sleep.”

“I know, I know. I love you, Finral.” And Langris kisses him again, slower and softer, small lips moving against Finral’s tentatively like he’s trying to remember how to do it right.

Finral lets him have this, cupping the back of his head, drawing him closer until the hand on his stomach is flattened against his skin, warm through the fabric of his shirt. “I love you, too, Langris. And I’m never going to stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little bit shorter but hey it's a chapter!


	22. Chapter 22

Finral is still asleep when Langris slips out of bed, well-rested without any nightmares to disrupt his sleep and in need of something to eat. The gentle rumble in his stomach reminds him of how little he ate prior to realizing he was a fae, and he knows they have leftover fruit from what Letra dropped off for them earlier. He wants to eat, maybe out on the little porch that belongs to the two of them as long as they stay here.

And maybe his heart thuds a little harder in fondness for the fae brothers who have been taking such good care of the two of them, helping them find their way in this world.

He finds a fruit as deep red as a freshly-forming bruise and carries it out into the cool evening air to enjoy. The sun must be setting, impossible to see because of the trees overhead, but the golden light is slowly giving way to the colorful glow of the mushrooms dotted along the trees around them. Langris loves the look of them and wonders if anyone in Clover has some kind of plant magic, maybe they would appreciate being brought one.

Had Finral once mentioned a mage who used healing plant magic? Langris thinks so, but the name escapes him. He makes a mental note to ask and bites into the fruit, leaning against the porch railing and sighing as he drinks in the green sweetness of the air around him. Everything here is so lush and alive, and he wants to explore the forest as much as possible in their visits. He wants to get to know it well, to be able to traverse it as if he’d lived here all his life, because he knows this is his official second home.

And more importantly… He did not ask, because it was hardly his business, but talking to Licht and Lumiere made one thing abundantly clear to him. This forest was strange, and it worked differently than others. He knows that. But Lumiere is hundreds of years old and looks no older than he seemingly was when Licht first brought him to this forest.

Does that mean, if Finral comes to live here… Will he be like that, too?

“I hope so,” Langris murmurs, to no one but himself. “I don’t  _ ever _ want to be without nii-san, and all the fae I’ve met are so much older. I don’t want to lose him like that.”

If Langris is being honest with himself, he  _ never _ wants to lose Finral. Not in this lifetime.

The train of his thought is interrupted by the sound of  _ something, _ heavy enough to have him leaning against the railing, neck craning as he looks beneath their house. At first he sees nothing and confusion seeps into him, glancing up toward the sky as he tries to make sense of it. It sounds like… Flapping? Almost like when the fae are flying, but slower and heavier as if something much larger is the source of that noise. Does something live in this forest besides the fae and the birds and small animals Langris has noticed? Some kind of large, magical creature, perhaps, but he isn’t sure if he believes that.

But he is given no choice but to believe. The sound is next to him, and he turns in time to see something  _ massive _ and brightly glowing lowering itself slowly in the air. His eyes make no sense of it at first, the huge beast simply too fantastical for his mind to fully process what he finds himself staring at. The wings are wide and leathery, finding just enough space to unfold between the trees. The head caps off a long neck that bends as the creature looks behind it, at the woman and young boy poised on its wide back.

A dragon. Langris is looking at a dragon, and there is a fae woman  _ riding on its back. _

“Oh, I know Letra said it was supposed to be around here, but I don’t remember what else he said.” The fae woman sighs as she stretches her arms over her head. Her wings are huge, glittering blue-green and bright in the night, a sharp contrast to the brilliant orange of the dragon beneath her. “What color did he say the house was supposed to be?”

The dragon snorts, and she visibly pouts as she strokes a hand along where the dragon’s wing meets its huge, muscular back. “I  _ was _ listening, Salamander. You’re so rude.”

“Letra said the house was blue.” This comes from the boy sitting in front of the fae, and Langris is quick to notice that he has no wings at all, and none of the magenta markings on his cheeks that Langris associates with the fae. Is the boy a human? He must be.

“Blue, that’s right! He said it was blue, almost like William’s but not quite the same shade.” The woman curls an arm around the boy, hugging him back against her chest as she twists where she sits, her head swinging from side to side. “I wonder where a blue house is.”

Langris opens his mouth to say something and swallows a breathless sound when the dragon lifts its head and looks  _ directly _ at him. Golden eyes with slitted black pupils gleam as the great beast considers him, tilting its head from side to side as if to make sense of him. That is fair, he guesses, if the creature is used to fae, and Langris both is and isn’t one. Lacks the wings that are so recognizable. Is the dragon wondering where his are?

The dragon snorts again, and the fae woman pivots. Eyes that match her iridescent wings find where Langris stands, transfixed by her mount. “Oh! Oh, hello, little one, do you… Well, never mind! I was going to ask if you knew where the new little fae was living, but now that I have a proper look at you, I think you might be that very boy.”

“Are you looking for me?” Langris asks, just to be sure he heard her correctly.

“I am! I wanted to come see if you and your brother had woken up, because Letra and Ratri are a bit busy right now and said they’d come check.” The woman beams at him, her arm shifting tighter around the boy in front of her. “Salamander, would you like to take us around to the front? And you can rest on my shoulder for a little bit if you’d like.”

On her  _ shoulder? _ The dragon is big enough for her to  _ ride on it _ with another person.

Langris wonders if he should retrieve Finral to have his brother with him to meet a stranger, then gives himself a little shake and finishes the last bite of the fruit in his hand. What does he need Finral for? This woman is a fae, and every fae Langris has met so far has been nothing less than lovely to him, happy to have him here in the forest and wanting him to stay if he’s comfortable with that. If any of them are a danger to him, he doubts he would have been left here with just his human brother to watch over him.

The dragon rounds the front of the house, and the woman hops from its back and onto the porch with ease, the boy she was riding with now cradled against her chest. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’ve only heard about you and your brother. Is he inside?”

“He’s still sleeping,” Langris says, and the woman smiles softly down at him. “I don’t think I’ve met you before since coming here? My name is Langris. What’s yours?”

“My name is Fana, though not the Fana you’ve already met. She told me about you, though.” And Langris recalls being told about a second Fana, named after the eldest, and he can see the differences in them. This Fana has deeper eyes, and her hair is pink as well but several shades darker. Even side by side, he could easily tell them apart.

The boy in her arms waves a hand at him. “Hi. I’m Mars. Where did you come here from?”

“Clover Kingdom.” Langris is distracted from the question for just a moment; the massive dragon slowly but surely  _ shrinks _ before his eyes, the huge form curling inward, long limbs shortening. And then the now small dragon lands neatly on Fana’s bare shoulder.

“That’s good. I heard some of what happened to you, and I thought you’d come from Diamond for a minute.” Mars squirms just a little and Fana sets him down, a hand moving to brush his messy violet hair off of his forehead. “That’s where I lived before Fana brought me here, and lots of bad things happened to the kids there, so I was worried.”

Fana nods sagely, and Langris sees a flickering sadness in her eyes for just a breath of a moment before she smiles and hugs Mars close once more. “I’m glad to hear that it wasn’t Diamond, either. I thought I taught them a lesson, but I’d be willing to do it again.”

Mars looks up at her. “Fana, no, you said I was the  _ only _ human you ever really liked.”

“I don’t have to bring another human to the forest to teach anyone a lesson, little one. You’re my one and only, I told you that.” Fana touches his face now, her fingers tracing a path along his skin that has Mars turning to nuzzle into her palm.

It’s clear how much the two of them love each other, and it makes Langris think back to what he heard about Diamond Kingdom when he eavesdropped on the visitors his parents would have over. Magic Knights from proper squads who had missions all over the kingdom, who interacted with mages from other countries. It was the only way Langris really had of learning about the world, because he was often too sick to ask his parents and receive serious answers. Mostly, he was told to rest, or encouraged to train to exhaustion.

But it was through this careful listening that he learned about the three other kingdoms, two bookending Clover and one located across the Grand Magic Zone.

The paradise of Heart. The cruelty of Diamond. The eternal winter of Spade.

“I heard Diamond isn’t really a good place to live,” Langris tries, not wanting to say something insensitive. He can tell this is a delicate topic and wonders what Fana had done, how she had met Mars. “How long did you have to live there before coming here?”

Mars looks at him, as if considering. “They talk about Diamond where you’re from?”

“Not really to me, but I listen in sometimes.” Langris sits on the porch with no real chair anywhere to use and wonders if he should ask Letra and Ratri about some. It might be nice to sit out here, especially at night when it feels so peaceful. “I haven’t heard anything nice about it. I heard it was bad, actually. Diamond mages attack Clover mages a lot.”

Fana sits as well, and tugs Mars down into her lap, wrapping him up in her arms and nuzzling into his hair like she just can’t bear not touching him. “ _ Bad _ is certainly a way to describe that wretched place. A gentle way to explain it. A kinder way than I’d ever use.”

“Diamond is bad,” Mars agrees, and Langris nods. He’d expected that. But what he doesn’t expect is that even the dragon— Salamander, he thinks Fana had called it that— slinks down from her shoulder and into Mars’s lap with a faint hiss. “When Fana and I met, I’d been sent on a solo mission to the edge of the country. Just to see if I could make it back alone and without any real help or supplies. They wanted to know if I was strong enough.”

“That’s… That’s awful. What kind of training was that? How old were you?” Had he even had his grimoire with him? Surely no one would try to train a child as a soldier that early— But Langris knows the Vaudes, and that makes him think his questions were really a moot point. Whether someone was prepared or not didn’t influence certain choices.

Mars’s smile is wry and he leans back into Fana’s embrace this time. This is a sensitive topic. Maybe Langris overstepped. “The same age as I am now, except I didn’t have my grimoire just yet. They sent me out right before I was supposed to get one.”

“And that was how I found him. On the edge of our forest, taking a rest before going back to that awful place. That was the first time we spoke.” Fana kisses the top of his head and Mars looks up at her and smiles. “I wasn’t entirely surprised when I was told you were brought here by your brother. It made me think of myself. We do the most for the ones we care for, no matter what it takes. Even if it means burning down half a kingdom.”

_ Half a kingdom? _ Right, the dragon. “Nii-san would have brought me here sooner if he knew about it. But he didn’t for a long time, and as soon as he did, here I was.”

“I like to hear that. I genuinely don’t always know what to think about humans.” Fana cuddles Mars closer, and Langris knows that doesn’t extend to him. “Some are just awful.”

“You’re not wrong. I think the people who raised me definitely count.” Even now, Langris knows that Fana identified him because he doesn’t have wings. Because his parents had them removed so that no one would know, so that the glamour magic would work easily.

He doesn’t have the ability to feel anything about that, really. It’s hard to long for something he never really had when he has so much just with Finral by him. When he has a Magic Knight squad ready and willing to take him in, to give him a proper home, and when he has the fae of this forest offering the same. Maybe he should miss them. Maybe he will when he’s a bit older, but for now all he feels is… Warmth. Contentment. He’s happy now.

Fana sighs and tilts Mars’s face up so she can kiss him on the cheek this time, and the corner of his mouth. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re awake and that I didn’t wake you trying to find you. Like I said, Letra and Ratri ended up busy. They’re with Patolli currently.”

“Is something wrong? Did something happen?” Langris wracks his brain for what it might have been but can only really come up with the simple answer that he and his brother being here might have caused something. What else could it be? They’re the only real change.

“Not at all! They just needed to talk about something, and when I stopped by to ask if you two were coming tonight, they said they hadn’t had a chance to come check on you yet, so I volunteered.” Fana claps her hands together and Mars smiles up at her, and the sheer amount of love shining in his eyes makes Langris’s breath catch in his throat. Is that how he looks at his brother? He hopes it is. Finral deserves that and more. “So here I am, asking if you’re going to be joining us this evening. I can even take you, if you want me to.”

Langris glances at the house and wonders if he should wake Finral up, or if he should let him sleep after everything that happened today. “Let me go see if my brother is awake.”

“Of course, little one, take all the time you need.” Fana settles her arms around Mars once again, humming softly as she combs her fingers through his hair.

The inside of the house is still quiet when Langris slips back inside, but he finds the bed empty when he walks down to the living room and glances around. Confusion has him spinning on heel slowly, wondering where Finral could possibly be until the sound of a toilet flushing catches his attention. Finral steps out of the bathroom attached to their bedroom, running a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair, dressed in what he wore to bed only slightly rumpled now. He still looks handsome, though, even stifling a yawn against the palm of his hand, eyes still half-closed like all he wants to do is climb back into bed.

Langris walks up to him and hugs him around the waist, pressing his face against his chest and closing his eyes as he just asks in the closeness of his brother. A small surprised sound comes from above him before Finral hugs him, pulling him even closer, and Finral is so  _ warm _ that Langris nuzzles against him. He almost wants to go back to bed with him, too.

Before he can ask how Finral slept, a finger slips under his chin, tilting his head up. He barely has time to process before Finral leans down to kiss him, lips so soft against his mouth, moving slowly and easily so that Langris can pick up the rhythm and follow along with it. Inexperienced still but he’s going to get better. He’s going to get so good at kissing that Finral loses his breath instead of the other way around.

He’s still a little unsteady on his feet when Finral leans back to look down at him, a half-smile settling warm and familiar on his lips. “I was wondering where you were when I woke up and your side of the bed was empty. Didn’t have any bad dreams, did you?”

“No, I slept fine. I just woke up normally and went to have something to eat.” Langris presses his face into Finral’s chest, smiling against his shirt when gentle fingers soothe through his hair. “And we have a visitor, so I came to get you to say hello.”

“A visitor? Well, let me get dressed and I’ll go out to greet them,” Finral murmurs.

“I should probably get dressed in something nicer, too,” Langris says, looking down at his own clothes. He hadn’t even thought about it, because it was just him on the porch to begin with. “She’s really nice, she’s another of the fae. And she has a human boy with her.”

Finral hums thoughtfully and nods before moving to the clothing that Letra and Ratri brought for the two of them, and Langris does the same. Everything the fae wear seems to be light and airy, easy to slide off and into. He catches Finral watching him when he undresses and feels a hot blush stain his cheeks, not sure if he should turn away or not. He only decides against it because this is fine. Finral is allowed to look at him.

And it means Langris can watch him in turn. Watch the lean muscles in his torso flex.

_ Nii-san is so pretty. _ His mouth is momentarily dry and Langris looks away, overwhelmed before Finral can take off his pants. Over the years, he heard people say such things about his brother, about his good looks even though he was such an unfortunate person, and they were at least right about how attractive he is. Langris is allowed to think that now, right? No, of course he is. Because Finral loves him like that, too.

“Do you want me to brush your hair for you? It’s a bit ruffled,” Finral teases, and he ruffles Langris’s hair further because of  _ course _ he does. “It’s cute, though.”

“I don’t see why not.” Langris tries to ignore the mounting horror that he’d just met someone in his pajamas with his hair a mess, but Fana hadn’t seem bothered by it, so maybe it’s okay. None of the fae have seem like such small things even affect them.

Finral’s hands are gently, brushing the few knots out of Langris’s hair without pulling the strands enough to hurt before he tackles his own with a disgruntled sigh. Langris giggles up at him and watches him, the glitter of his brother’s violet eyes, the way his lips twist into a little pout as he tugs at his hair. He really is so beautiful and Langris doesn’t know if he deserves Finral, but he is so glad to have Finral in his life and loving him.

“All nice and presentable now.” Finral scoops him up without a word and Langris lets him, looping his arms around his brother’s shoulders and nuzzling against his neck. “Just like a kitten, aren’t you? Come on, now, let’s go meet your new fae friend.”

The night air is cooler now. Fana leans back to look up at them both, and her smile is welcoming and warm immediately. She doesn’t look at Finral with uncertainty and distrust like some of the other fae have, and Langris is glad for that. He doesn’t want to have to defend his brother to everyone when Finral has always been so good.

“How nice to get to meet you both!” Fana bounces up to her feet, heaving Mars up in her arms like it’s nothing even though he looks heavier than Langris is, and she’s slighter than Finral. “You must be the big brother, then. I’m Fana, and this is Mars, and Salamander.”

“You have a dragon?” Finral blinks in disbelief and Langris giggles. He hadn’t even seen it blown up to full size yet, and his expression would be so funny when he did.

Fana nods and shifts, tilting her head so her cheek rests against Salamander’s now-small back. “He was with the elder Fana before me, but my potential caught his attention and he came to aid me in rescuing my Mars. And the two of us have been together ever since.”

“I’d only ever heard of the Four Great Spirits. I never thought I’d meet one in my lifetime.” Finral frees up a hand to offer to the dragon, and Salamander nudges under his fingers fearlessly. Of course, what would a dragon have to be afraid of? “That’s amazing. You must be really powerful, then. I’m honored to have met all of you.”

“Such a polite human. I didn’t think you could be anything less if you were Langris’s older brother, he’s so perfectly lovely.” Fana taps Salamander on the nose. “Now, I came here to ask if you two wanted to come with us. I’m going to do a special display tonight, and Letra and Ratri thought you might enjoy it. You just happen to be here when I’m inspired.”

A display? Langris perks up. Everything in the forest has already been so wonderful, and so much of the magic he’s seen here has already entranced him. Will they get to see Fana’s magic? It must be fire magic, if she has Salamander with her. Will Salamander participate? The very thought of getting to see such a magnificent dragon do anything makes his heart thud a little faster. An experience he definitely won’t get anywhere else.

“We’d definitely love to come see that,” Finral says, and Langris beams up at him. “Though it’ll be a bit hard for the two of us to travel. Neither of us have wings, after all.”

Even if Langris did, it would be hard. He couldn’t carry Finral even if he wanted to.

But Fana only smiles mischievously at the two of them, combing her fingers through Mars’s hair with an expression that makes Langris eye her curiously. “I don’t think transport is going to be a problem at all. You don’t have to have wings to get around in this forest.”

“Do you want us to walk?” Langris asks, and Mars turns, hiding a giggle against her throat.

Before she can answer, Salamander soars off of her shoulder, and Fana rises to her full height, her mana swirling bright and crimson around her. “Tell me something, Finral and Langris. Have either of you ever ridden on the back of a spirit dragon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple notes here at the end
> 
> i've finally decided to open comments on this fic. that doesn't mean you have to leave one, and you shouldn't be pressed into doing so, but i thought i would afford the opportunity to anyone who'd like to do so.
> 
> also if you click the following link, you will get to see a beautiful piece of artwork inspired by heliotrope:
> 
> [finral & langris by sexualnt](https://twitter.com/sexualnt/status/1361310850661847051)
> 
> it is absolutely stunning and i think everyone should get to see it


	23. Chapter 23

Flying on the back of a dragon is the most terrifying thing Finral has ever done.

The minute he and Langris are comfortably seated, Fana flies  _ up. _ The impossibly tall and wide trunks of trees sore past them as she aims for gaps in the foliage, laughing as wind whips wildly through her hair. All Finral can do is squeeze his legs tight around the back of her companion, his arms firmly wrapped tight around Langris’s waist to keep him still even though his brother looks thrilled by the experience. His own hands are braced against Fana’s back, because she’d set Mars in front of her to steer them higher.

Salamander is  _ fast, _ and Finral squeezes his eyes shut against the wild blur, the air that makes his eyes stream. The others seem perfectly fine; he can hear Mars laughing along with Fana, but the two of them will have been  _ used _ to doing this very thing.

When they break the treetops, he knows it. Salamander slows and banks, and Finral dares to open his eyes. All that is around them is vast night sky, the wide expanse of black with its distant brushes of deep blues and royal violets. This high up, the stars gleam like diamonds and the moon is so bold and beautiful she seems to have a halo around her.

It all quietly takes his breath away, how beautiful the sky looks up here.

“It isn’t very often we come up this high anymore,” Fana says, and Finral gives himself a shake and looks at her. She sits sideways on Salamander’s back now, Mars tugged up into her lap. Why would she need to fear falling, he thinks, when she has wings of her own? “Not like I have much of a reason to leave the forest besides for this.”

“What’s this?” Langris asks her, cocking his head up at her like a curious puppy.

Mars grins at him, sly and secretive. “You just have to wait and see, it’s  _ so _ cool. Do you want to go sit with Letra and Ratri? Or do you want to sit off on your own?”

“They’re here?” Finral looks around for them immediately, and it makes him aware, for one dazzling moment, of how many fae have broken the tree tops this evening.

His mouth falls open, and he hears Langris’s small gasp of realization follow his own, though Finral manages no words while Langris does. “Nii-san, look at all of them!”

There are  _ hundreds _ of fae around them. Some of them are airborne while others are perched on the tops of wide, thick leaves that actually look sturdy enough to bear their weight. Wings in every shade of the rainbow glitter in the moonlight, glowing softly and lighting up the night with their own unique shades and hues. The sheer range of color is enough to steal the air from Finral’s lungs, and Langris seems to feel the same.

“What is it?” Fana turns her head, then looks back at him. “Oh, you’ve never seen this many of us at one time, have you? Surprise! A lot of fae are here to watch us.”

“There are this many of you?” Finral asks her, and Fana blinks at him. “I had no idea.”

She giggles politely, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as she nods at him, and her eyes glint with humor. “Yes, Finral, this many and more. Not everyone is here tonight. Some of them simply have no desire, or they’re busy. Does that surprise you?”

“I just had no idea how many fae there were,” he says, because it’s true. Clover often talked of the fae like they were monsters. There weren’t exactly population lessons.

“Well, this isn’t nearly all of us, of course, just a good portion of us, and this doesn’t account for the fae who live closer to the Spade border who almost never come. They’re occupied with their own matters.” Fana stretches out a hand and touches his shoulder, and that grounds him a little. “Would you like to meet our family before I drop you two off? I assume you’ll want to be with Letra and Ratri, and that makes you all very important, you know. That makes you guests of the fae king and his family.”

Langris sits up a little straighter, and Finral bites back a small laugh as he nods and strokes his hand through all that soft, fluffy hair. It’s a little flyaway from their trip up to the treetops, though he doubts he looks any better. “Are we that important?”

“You don’t know that much about Letra and Ratri, do you?” Fana asks, and Finral shakes his head, because he only knows the little bit he’s been told, and he had no idea they were related to royalty until they met Licht and Lumiere. “They’re  _ very _ important, because they’re Licht’s nephews. And that makes you two important by default.”

“Are you important? Is that why you have a dragon?” Langris asks, and Finral wonders if fae have hierarchy or ranks of some kind beyond the obvious royal family.

To his surprise, though, Fana shakes her head and gives Langris a gentle pat on the cheek. “I’m not important at all! I just happened to be the strongest user of fire magic within Salamander’s range. But that does make me kind of important here.”

_ Fire magic, _ Finral thinks.  _ That makes sense. _ “We’d love to meet your family, Fana-san.”

“Just Fana is more than fine. Like I said, I’m not  _ that _ important.” Fana pats Salamander on the back, and the dragon turns his massive head back to look at her. “Will you take us to go see them, Salamander? They’re right where we left them before we want to retrieve our special guests of the evening. Finral and Langris want to say hello.”

Salamander snorts at her, and it must be an affirmative because the dragon’s huge wings beat against the air. Not nearly as fiercely as before; they float on the air rather than properly fly, and Finral glances at the fae around them as they pass. Wings in every color and some he’s never properly seen before, glittering and gleaming and making the treetops shimmer with fae dust. Everything up here is so beautiful, and he wishes he could show his friends. At least he can share this incredible memory with Langris.

To his surprise, the family that Fana leads them to… Are humans. All three of them are humans. Their faces lack any trace of the delicate magenta markings the other fae carry on their skin, and none of the three of them bear wings. She said  _ family, _ didn’t she?

Fana slides off of Salamander’s back and onto the huge leaf the three humans are lounging on, and Finral follows suit, turning to let Langris slide into his waiting arms. He probably should just set Langris on his feet but he finds himself holding onto his brother instead, propping his weight on one ship as he follows Fana over to the humans. At least it doesn’t feel so strange, considering Fana is carrying Mars in her arms as well.

Fae are strange creatures, and Finral wonders what it was that gave her such an affinity for humans when some of the fae he’s met seemed immediately antagonistic toward him.

“You brought visitors, Fana?” Of the trio, it is the man who speaks, tipping his head back to look up at them. Everything about his posture is calm, his muscles relaxed, but there is a sharpness in his deep blue eyes that makes Finral wary. “New friends of yours?”

“What’s wrong with new friends?” Mars asks, and Finral bites back a small smile.

“Finral and Langris are our special guests of the evening.” Fana sets Mars down on his feet, nudging him toward the trio. The older of the two women opens her arms to him, her smile kind and warm, and he walks over to her without even a moment’s worth of hesitation. “And I asked if they’d like to come meet you all before I took them to Letra and Ratri.”

“They’re  _ that _ important?” the other woman asks, voice both wary and curious.

Fana nods and waves for them to step up next to her, and Finral acquiesces, telling himself not to tighten his grip on Langris. They’re safe here. “Finral, Langris, this is my family. Meet Fanzell, Dominanate, and Mariella. They’re the closest thing to family that I have. I think all of you heard about Langris. Well, this is his older brother with him.”

“They’re all human,” Langris says, and Finral glances at him. There’s something in his eyes that Finral can’t quite parse, but it’s gone as quick as it was just there.

It takes Finral no time to notice the other obvious fact, the one that stands out just as much as the humanity of this group. Fanzell and Dominante are both redheads, his hair a true vibrant red and hers an autumn orange, but Marielle has thick black hair. Had they been a family together before Fana found them, or did she bring them all together?

“Fanzell and Mariella are human,” Fana corrects them, “and Dominante is a witch.”

“I know a witch,” Finral muses, and Dominante’s head snaps in her direction, her eyes widening slightly as if in surprise as she settles Mars on her lap. “Ah, her name is Vanessa. She joined my Magic Knight squad before I did, but she’s a witch as well.”

“That’s interesting, actually. I knew of one witch who held the position of Magic Knight captain, but I can’t say I immediately knew of any more.” Dominante hums thoughtfully and Finral supposes that makes sense, though he admittedly doesn’t know all that much about witches, and Vanessa only lets the occasional detail slip when she’s been drinking.

Not that he blames her for it. A lot of the Black Bulls, including Finral himself, ended up under Yami’s care because they were trying to escape from something or somewhere. So he understands why Vanessa rarely feels the need to talk about her past.

Fanzell rises slowly to his feet, running a hand through his hair before he offers them a friendly smile. The sharpness in his eyes softens, and Finral supposes that’s a good thing. “Magic Knight squads would make you two from Clover, right? It’s nice to have you here.”

“What about you?” Finral asks, and Fanzell’s smile dims just slightly, so he knows the answer is not going to be a pleasant one. “I know witches come from the Witches’ Forest.”

“Diamond Kingdom. Along with Mars.” Fanzell glances down at the boy, and Finral’s chest warms just a touch at the open fondness in Fanzell’s eyes. Mars seems like a nice enough kid for the short amount of time Finral has known him, and he’d know the look in Fana’s eyes anywhere he saw it. It’s the same way he looks at Langris, and he doesn’t have to look in a mirror to be cognizant of it. “You could say he was the driving force behind all of us meeting. I was appointed his trainer not long before he met Fana for the first time.”

_ Trainer. _ Finral says nothing for a moment, but he notes the way Langris winces slightly and is just happy that whatever this story is, it has a happy enough ending for all four of them to be here with Fana. “I can’t say I’ve exactly heard good things about Diamond.”

Fanzell laughs, and Fana’s wings flutter just slightly. Just enough to draw Finral’s attention to her, to see the way her mouth twists into a grimace. “Well, no, of course not. You’ve heard bad things, as you should have. We don’t exactly have a great reputation.”

“Diamond trains kids early, before they get their grimoires,” Marielle says, and Finral realizes that she probably has firsthand knowledge of that. She looks young. Young enough that if she didn’t have her grimoire visibly strapped to her belt, he’d think she didn’t have one yet. “So you can imagine how well someone Mars’s age would have fared.”

“It was bad,” Mars quips, and Finral remembers his own parents pushing Langris to train sometimes until he was ill again. They wanted to make the most of his rare moments of good health, and sometimes he was worse off for it.

Fana stretches out her hand, and Salamander bumps his nose beneath it. She strokes his scales in silence for a moment before she sighs, tilting her face up toward the starlight above them. “Fanzell and Mariella risked their lives to smuggle Mars out of the main training facility so Dominanate could bring him to the forest and beg for our help.”

“Because fae usually take children?” Langris asks, and Fana nods without looking at them.

“It was a longshot,” Dominante says, and Finral can only imagine how much the three of them must have cared about the boy to risk something like that. Any kingdom that would push children so hard would probably punish insolence fiercely. “After all, if there wasn’t one nearby— But Fana was always nearby. She was waiting for Mars.”

Salamander makes a small noise in his throat and Fana gives his scales a scratch. “I always tried to stay nearby. After we first met, he came back to the border often, and I’d be there to see him. Sometimes I’d have to heal him, because they treated children so horribly. We didn’t get much time together, but we always made the most of it.”

She doesn’t have to say she fell in love with him. Finral can hear it in the bitterness of her voice as she recounts these memories. See it in the faintest tremble in her hand as she strokes her dragon. She loved Mars, and seeing him treated so horribly upset her even before she brought him here to the forest. He can’t imagine how she must have felt when Dominante brought Mars to her, begging her for some kind of assistance.

Actually. No. That isn’t quite right. He can imagine that scenario  _ perfectly. _

“Mars was gifted,” Fanzell says, and he walks across the leaf that sways so gently under his feet so he can drop a hand on Fana’s bare shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “So we had to keep pushing him. Mariella was meant to be sparring with him one day, and I sent him away with Dominante instead. He was already in bad shape. They wanted to keep pushing him. Either he’d crack under the pressure or he’d flourish under it. What was one failure, if they had so many children to sort through? But if Mars pushed through…”

They’d wanted elite soldiers. It was why they pushed so hard. Finral has heard as much about Diamond, how they focus on their military forces. If one child died in the process, that was fine, but if he’d proven himself able to handle it… How  _ awful _ .

Fana lifts her own hand, twining her fingers with Fanzell’s. “I saw red. I don’t remember most of what happened after that. I gave him my flames so they’d heal his injuries and then… Well. By the time it was over, I’d scorched so much of Diamond that Salamander left the older Fana that I’m named after, and he’d come to assist me instead.”

Finral blinks at her. Processes that information. Imagines a kingdom wreathed in flames, the righteous fury of a fae who wanted nothing more than to punish those who’d almost  _ killed _ the boy she loved so much. And wonders what he might have done if Langris died.

It’s understandable. He doesn’t think he would have done anything different.

“She might not have remembered it, but she didn’t hurt any of the children. Whether it was by design or instinct, they were free. Diamond lost a good portion of its military and quite a few commanders.” Fanzell chuckles and pats Fana on the shoulder, and she smiles kindly at him. “I asked her if Mars was all right. That’s why she didn’t kill me.”

“She was going to,” Mariella says, and Dominante chuckles softly and shakes her head. “You can all laugh, but that was  _ terrifying. _ She looked like a vengeful angel.”

Fanzell nods and sits back down, and Dominante leans on him; he tucks his arm around her shoulders and kisses the side of her head. “That’s right. That’s what Mars always said about her. That she was an  _ angel, _ not a fae. But fae in Diamond? That never happens, so I was almost more inclined to believe he’d seen an actual angel than a fae.”

“But I knew what he meant,” Dominante says, and Mars beams up at her, laughing when Fanzell leans over to give his hair a ruffle. “Angels don’t have butterfly wings, at least not any that I’ve ever heard of. And when I saw her face, I knew it was her. That being said, yes, it was utterly terrifying to see her in action at full strength.”

Salamander croons and Fana laughs and strokes his head, and he butts it up against his side. And it’s… Striking, Finral thinks, because his own family had been so dysfunctional, and yet this one, stitched together from such rough and painful circumstances, seems so warm and friendly. It makes him think more of the Bulls than House Vaude, and he wants Yami to meet Fana, to meet her family. To see some kind of validation in his beliefs that just drawing together those who need it most can work out perfectly.

Despite what so many in Clover seem to think and say and whisper behind their backs.

“There aren’t many stories like ours,” Fana says, looking back at them then, “but every so often you’ll find one that’s similar. It’s why I was so fascinated by you, Finral.”

“Because I brought Langris here?” Finral asks, and when Fana nods, all he can do is smile and shake his head. “No, I just did the right thing. The fae were the only chance he had.”

“And we were the only chance Mars had, too. I’m sure that didn’t make it an easy choice, because what if you’d never seen Langris again? Dominante had no way of knowing I’d let her or her family come here.” Fana turns toward the woman and Mars pops up out of her lap, meeting Fana when she holds out her hands to him, letting himself be drawn close enough that he can embrace her, her hands pressed against his back. “Mars asked for that, though, and it isn’t as though I’d ever think to deny him something he wanted.”

“Well, I understand that. If you only have one choice, then you only have one choice no matter how difficult it can be to make it.” Finral looks at him and Langris blushes, tucking his face against Finral’s neck, and he wonders how he’d just looked at his brother to fluster him like that. Well, Langris deserves to be looked at like that. “Sometimes you have to say goodbye, I imagine, if you want to make the best choice you can for someone.”

“I’m glad you didn’t have to,” Langris says, and Finral almost thinks that no one else can hear them. Maybe they can’t, hard to say, but he can hear it loud and clear.

“I am, too.” He kisses the top of Langris’s head and smiles when his little brother whines at him, smacking his chest weakly. Finral laughs and kisses his hair again. “It was lovely to meet all of you, and I’m glad your story had a happy ending for how difficult it was.”

“That is a nice way of looking at it,” Fana muses. “Well, I should take you to go sit with Letra and Ratri, I’m sure they’re wondering where you are. It was nice of everyone to come out, but now that it’s properly dark, I don’t want to keep them waiting too long.”

She leans down to kiss Mars first. Finral hadn’t been waiting for it or expecting it, but it doesn’t surprise him at all to watch the boy lean up on his toes to reach her properly. It’s a chaste kiss, a press of her lips to his for just a small moment, but she lingers there, stroking his face and murmuring too low for Finral to hear. An assurance she’ll be back, probably, since Mars returns to sitting with his human family and Fana turns to Finral and Langris. She’s smiling now. That kiss probably brightened her mood.

“Sorry to keep you both waiting,” she says. “I’m sure Letra will be annoyed.”

“He’s just the type to be irritated by anything,” Finral reassures her, and there is something in her eyes for a moment. Something that glitters, a mischievous little smile following, before it all vanishes and Fana throws back her head and laughs.

Letra and Ratri stand when Salamander approaches the very broad, wide leaf they’re sitting on with the rest of what Finral considers to be the royal family, or at least as much of it as he knows. Patolli and William are seated together, Patolli’s wings half-folded around them both as he whispers something in William’s ear that makes the pretty human blush. And next to them Licht sits with Lumiere draped across his lap.

“Took you all long enough, didn’t it?” Letra asks, holding his arms out for Langris. And to Finral’s surprise, Letra sets Langris down before reaching for  _ him, _ helping him dismount Salamander much more easily than he had a moment before. “Fana, you don’t have to take so long. You have a dragon and you’re still slower than I would have been.”

“Maybe I’ll check the security of the area next time, and you can play fetch.” Fana giggles, then waves to Finral and Langris. “Have a lovely evening, you two. Enjoy the show!”

“I saw you met Fana’s family,” Ratri says. He already has Langris’s hand in his own, and Finral is happy for it. He truly is, because nothing makes his heart swell like Langris having a friend his own age, and another fae at that. “Did you like riding on Salamander?”

“It was a bit terrifying, to be honest,” Finral admits, and Letra cuts him a sharp, sudden look that makes his stomach flip. He’s gotten used to the two of them, but that doesn’t mean he’s never nervous in front of them. “Ah, did I say something wrong?”

“No. I suppose I didn’t think much about that when I told Fana she could retrieve you two if you were awake.” Letra’s hand is warm when it cups Finral’s cheek, and he’s used to the warmth that rolls through his body, relaxing his tense muscles and soothing the slight anxiety curling in his gut. “You probably would have been more comfortable being carried.”

Something about the offhand comment makes Finral’s face feel hot, but he doesn’t know exactly what it  _ is _ about Letra’s words that gets to him. “Ah, I’m fine. It was just a bit—”

But Letra cuts him off. “It’s fine. We’ll carry you both home after the show.”

“You have the same spatial magic that I do, don’t you?” Finral asks, and Letra just looks at him like that’s a stupid question. “We can just use your spatial magic then. In fact, we could have… Done that a few times when you’ve carried us around, couldn’t we?”

Letra scoffs at him and takes him by the wrist, dragging him down onto the leaf hard enough that William and Patolli glance at them. “Why would I burn through my mana when it’s so easy to carry you around? It’s not like you weigh that much. Remind me to get you something to eat as soon as this is over. Did you even eat before you came?”

“I didn’t think about it?” Finral smiles faintly, and Letra groans and throws his head back.

“Of course you didn’t. You’re going to have me tearing my hair out trying to make sure you don’t waste away. You!” Letra points at Langris, who jumps and squeaks slightly. “You  _ both _ make sure you eat while you’re with your squad. If you come to visit and I think you’ve lost even half a pound, I’m going to make you stay here and fatten up properly.”

Finral rolls his eyes, shifting so that Langris can sit in his lap, and he doesn’t miss the way Ratri and Letra bookend him. The way their wings come to rest against his back. The two of them really do care so much, and Finral feels eternally grateful for that. Having people around him who care about Langris’s well-being, and about Finral’s own, has been a relief after everything that’s happened. And even if he’ll miss Letra and Ratri, they’ll come to visit them again. And being back with the Bulls is something he’s looking forward to.

He just hopes Langris gets along with everyone, but he’s sure he will. The Bulls have just been  _ waiting _ for them both, after all, and they’d all seemed compassionate before.

“Here we go,” Letra says, pointing, and Finral watches as Fana rises up into the air on Salamander’s back, her mana wavering around her like living flames. “Fana’s show.”

No one back in Clover is going to believe that Finral watched a fae on the back of a dragon put on a show, but he commits it to memory just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> black bulls next chapter~


	24. Chapter 24

Captain Yami Sukehiro and vice captain Nacht Faust are waiting for them at the edge of the forest when they finally step through the foliage, Langris’s hand clasped tightly in Finral’s. Sometime between when they were allowed clean clothes to change into and this morning when Finral told them it was time to go back, their capes had been washed of the blood that stained both of them from the trial. The soft black material sits heavily upon Langris’s shoulders, and he wonders if he can even really  _ be _ a Magic Knight without a grimoire. He has to prove himself by the time that day finally comes.

Letra and Ratri came to see them off before having to attend to matters elsewhere in the forest, and it is Rill who comes to escort them through the greenery to the forest’s edge. Langris is grateful to him for so much, but he can’t quite find the words to express how he feels about everything. It seems like time has passed so slowly and so quickly. Like he was  _ just _ sickly in Finral’s arms yesterday in the dead of the night, but at the same time it feels like it might have been a lifetime ago that he last saw the Vaudes.

“About time,” Yami says, though the gruff tone of his voice only has Nacht scoffing at him softly. “You finally ready to come back to the base? Everyone’s been worried about you.”

Finral laughs softly and squeezes Langris’s hand, and Langris presses himself up against his brother’s side without really meaning to. “Sorry to have worried everyone! I’m perfectly fine, we just wanted a bit of a chance to rest after everything happened.”

“If you needed it, you needed it.” Nacht glances down and Langris feels very small under the piercing blue stare. “Well, we’ll finally be bringing our new squad member back to the house. A few of them are off on a mission, but most of them are waiting.”

“Is Charmy there?” Rill asks, and Langris looks back at him, at the open excitement in his eyes, and he thinks he should thank Charmy, too. Because Rill was here to help them because of her, though Langris has never met her, so it might be awkward to say something right away. “I know she doesn’t  _ usually _ go on missions but—”

Nacht’s smile is thin. It feels fake, somehow. “She is indeed back at the base. Will you be joining us then, Rill? Didn’t get into too much trouble galavanting with humans?”

“Well.” Rill shrugs a shoulder helplessly and smiles. “I was advised to be careful but it isn’t like they can  _ make _ me stay away from her. We all make our own choices, after all.”

“I suppose so. And if those choices go badly, well, it isn’t as though you didn’t know it would be a possibility.” The strangely cryptic words remind Langris of how often Finral used to talk about Nacht being  _ almost _ frightening. Not quite, but strange enough that it made him uneasy sometimes. “We should be going back now. Finral, up to using your spatial magic?”

“Oh, sure. I haven’t had to use it much lately.” Finral only needs one hand to activate it, the pale blue shimmer of his magic so familiar. Langris remembers how often they’d played with those portals when they were small. It helped him conserve his strength.

Yami glances back at the forest, hand moving to his mouth to where his cigarette is clasped between his lips. “Hell of a place. I’m sure you’ve both got some stories for us.”

“You wouldn’t even believe some of the stories we have,” Finral says, and Langris giggles a little at the thought, watching as Rill and Nacht brush past them through Finral’s portal.

But Yami hesitates for just a moment, his eyes still fixed on the trees, and Langris peers up at him. Finral always had so much to say when it came to his captain, the man who’d taken him in and watched over him. Their entire squad is a bit of a mess, but it sounds warm there, comforting. It’s hard to believe that the man responsible for such a thing is the one standing in front of them, because Yami is… Intimidating. Huge and heavy with muscle, like he only really needs his bare hands if he wants to win a fight.

“Are you sure you want to come back?” Yami asks, and Finral looks at him wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open just a little. “Either of you two. You don’t have to. I imagine they’d take you in and keep you there if you really wanted to stay.”

“We want to come back,” Langris says, because Finral might lie to make Yami feel better, but Langris doesn’t have a connection to the Black Bulls. Not like Finral. “I still want to be a Magic Knight! And I wanted to join nii-san’s squad from the very beginning.”

Finral’s hand twists slightly in his, lacing their fingers together before squeezing gently once more. “He’s right, Yami-san. Both of us want to come back.”

“Just so you’re sure.” Yami doesn’t question them again before disappearing through the portal, but Langris understands. It was nice of him to stop to double check like that.

Walking through one of Finral’s portals is familiar to Langris, who’s done it a thousand times before, but being wrapped in his mana for just a moment is still a comforting experience. He steps through the other side and finds himself in front of a building he’s never seen before, huge and towering over his head. Wooden and brick and stone, strangely-shaped and uneven, and it makes him smile that it looks just like Finral always described it.  _ Like an accident, almost, but everything is very purposeful. _

“You’ve been here once before,” Yami says, and Langris peeks up at him as Finral steps through the portal and takes him by the hand again. “But you probably don’t remember with how sick you were. So here’s your official welcome to the Black Bulls.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Langris needs to get used to the title and when Yami shoots him a small little grin, he knows that was definitely the right move. One step at a time.

“Magna and Luck are currently out of the house, so it’s been rather peaceful today,” Nacht tells them, leading them up to the front doors. The sunlight that spills through the trees lining the path make his dark hair blaze an almost-blue. “That might have been by design.”

Yami clicks his tongue. “I told you a long time ago you’re just gonna have to get used to how loud they are ‘cause none of your damn intimidation tactics have worked on them.”

“Oh believe me, I am well aware.” Nacht stops just in front of the doors, looking back to Langris. “They’re very loud because the two of them fight constantly, so I’d try to stay out of the crossfire if you can. Now, we weren’t sure exactly how to prepare a room for you, so we’ve left that up to you. You can meet Henry and decide that for yourself.”

Finral whistles and winks down at him, and Langris tries his best not to blush. “Look at that, you get to design your own room yourself. Within reason, but Charmy’s here.”

“What does Charmy have to do with it?” Langris asks, and Rill flutters up to his side immediately as if the very sound of her name is enough to catch his attention.

“Her magic can make delicious food that helps you recover your mana!” Rill’s eyes sparkle and Langris hides a smile as best he can. It’s kind of cute how much Rill likes her. “So that way Henry won’t have to worry about using too much mana to move the house around.”

Langris files that information away and makes a mental note not to forget it, because that’s the kind of valuable and useful information he’ll need to know to work with them when he’s able to. “That’s a really useful ability, when you can take care of the rest of the squad like that,” he muses, and Rill nods so quickly it looks painful on his neck.

Nacht opens the doors for them and Finral leads him inside with Yami bringing up the rear, and the house is quiet. Finral has a large squad, so the noisiest ones must really be gone for the building to feel so peaceful. Still, Langris feels a familiar kick of anxiety in the pit of his gut, because he already kind of messed up his first impression with everyone here.

He wanted to make a good impression on them. Fresh from receiving his grimoire and proving himself to be more than capable, he would look like a strong and useful addition to the team who would not hold them back. Coming here sickly and on the verge of dying is the exact opposite of that, so he needs to make a better impression this time. Be helpful around the house until he can join them on missions, not be underfoot too much. Finral says everyone here is nice, and they might be, but Langris needs to prove himself.

This is Finral’s real,  _ true _ home and Langris wants to belong here, too.

There is someone waiting in the living room, though, and she stands to greet them as soon as Yami closes the door. Langris knows her on sight even if he doesn’t really remember the first time he met her. After all, Finral talks about her  _ all _ the time, and at one point Langris used to secretly think to himself that Finral might be in love with her.

Vanessa Enoteca has a beautiful smile, and Langris understand what Finral meant when he said you could just  _ look _ at her and understand how kind she was. “You’re finally home, Finral! You’re all right, aren’t you? I heard about what happened at the trial.”

“Perfectly fine! I’m all healed up now.” Finral pats his stomach and Langris remembers the blood with a shudder. He’s glad that the Vaudes weren’t able to do lasting physical damage to Finral. If they had, Langris doesn’t know what he would have done. “Sorry to have kept you waiting for so long. We just needed a little more time away after that.”

“Don’t even worry about it. All that matters is that both of you are okay, and, well, you look like you are.” The relief in her voice is palpable. They must be really good friends.

Finral tugs Langris’s hand and leads him forward, and out of the corner of his eye Langris sees Rill flutter off around a corner, probably looking for Charmy. “I want to introduce you to my little brother properly now. Langris, this is my best friend, Vanessa. Vanessa, this is my little brother, Langris. He’s going to be with our squad from now on.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. I sewed his cape for him.” Vanessa holds out a hand to him and Langris takes it— And then bounces up to kiss the back of her hand, because Vanessa is a  _ lady _ and he should be respectful. “Aww, he’s adorable. It’s nice to see you again, Langris, and to meet you properly now. I hope you like your cape. It seems to fit fine.”

Langris smiles up at her and nods, letting go of her hand so he can touch the golden edge of his brand new cape. “I love it. Thank you so much for making it for me.”

“You’re welcome. Now that you’re a member of our squad, you needed one. And we’re all happy to have you.” Vanessa pats him on top of the head, and Langris thinks that Finral was right. Vanessa really is a kind person, and he’s glad he finally gets to know her.

Yami roughly clears his throat, still standing near the doorway. “Well, Finral, you can introduce him to everyone and show him around. I’m gonna go take a nap.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night, Captain?” Vanessa asks him, and the teasing tone of her voice makes Langris glance between them, curious. Did something happen last night? Maybe he was worried about Finral. It seems like the two of them get along so well.

“What are you implying, Vanessa?” Yami arches a brow at her and Vanessa only smiles, as if there’s something she knows that he doesn’t. Or… Maybe something she knows that he  _ knows _ she knows? Langris has seen familiar expressions around the dinner table on the occasion he was well enough to dine with some visiting noble family.

“Just saying that I can tell some shadows from others, even when you think I can’t.” She giggles a little and Finral whips his head around, and now he looks properly shocked. Langris follows his line of sight, and it lands on Nacht, who freezes just at the hall entrance.

“I think you must be mistaken, Vanessa,” Nacht says smoothly, and the way he turns his head, the way he  _ looks _ at all of them is so cold. So frosty. “Maybe you just think you can.”

“Captain—” Finral starts, but Yami throws a hand up to stop him instead.

“I don’t know  _ where _ you’re getting a weird idea like that, but you’re wrong. I was up late  _ on my own _ and that’s the end of it.” And with that, Langris understands perfectly. He’d been a little slow on the uptake, but in his defense, he doesn’t really know these people well.

“Are you two together?” Langris asks him, and Nacht’s gaze snaps to him,  _ demanding _ silence, but Langris has only heard Finral talk about him. And Nacht isn’t as intimidating as some of the people Langris has known in his short life. “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? I don’t see why you’re trying to keep it a secret or anything.”

“It isn’t even really a secret,” Finral says, and Langris can  _ feel _ Nacht’s icy cold mana.

Yami huffs, and it almost sounds like a laugh. He lights himself a fresh cigarette. “Well, but don’t make a big deal out of it. Not everyone’s figured it out yet.”

“Some of them are just oblivious,” Vanessa giggles, and Nacht scowls at all of them before storming down the hallway, his boots making sharp  _ thumps  _ against the floor. “What’s wrong with him? Don’t tell me he’s ashamed other people know about it or something.”

“Nah, not ashamed. You know Nacht. He’s a proud bastard and he wouldn’t have agreed to do anything that made him feel ashamed of himself.” Yami puffs on his new cigarette, and he looks thoughtful for just a moment, glancing down the hallway like he’s debating the merits of chasing him down. It looks like that wins out, because he starts after him. “Anyway, don’t make a big deal out of it. I have a bet with Zora I’m still trying to win.”

“He really does have a gambling problem.” Finral shakes his head, and Langris chuckles a little as he rocks on the balls of his feet. “Lan, you could have gotten me killed. But I kind of thought maybe they were together, so I’m glad that I have an answer to that.”

Langris cocks his head up at his big brother. “Why does Nacht-san act like that? There’s nothing wrong with it, is there? I don’t think anyone would really care.”

“He’s as prickly as a porcupine, so that probably plays into it somewhat.” Finral gives his hand a little tug. “Come on, let me show you my room finally!”

That offer makes Langris perk up, and he nods and waves goodbye to Vanessa as he lets Finral lead him down a different hallway and up a set of stairs that don’t necessarily look like they belong in this part of the house. Even the interior is a little strange, but Langris loves it. Something about it feels so interesting and cool, and he’s never seen anything like it before. He could probably get lost poking around, but Finral told him that Henry would be able to just make him a path to anywhere he wanted to go within reason.

Like, no direct path to the women’s dorms in the building, because Yami has traps there.

Finral leads him to a hallway that has a few doors along the sides of it, pushing one of them open and tugging Langris along through the threshold. “This is my room. It’s bigger than most of the others, but I’m one of the members who’s been here the longest.”

The room is bright and sunny. Langris notices that first, marveling at the large windows with the curtains thrown wide open to let warm, golden light spill into the room. Everything is kind of hazy and golden, and when Finral lets go of his hand, Langris goes poking around. He has a small bag with him that he leaves on Finral’s bed, one that Ratri brought him. Their fae clothes are folded up inside in case they want them, and Langris’s cat plush.

“Nii-san has a nice room,” Langris muses. There are some photos, Finral with his squad and a few of Finral and Langris when they were children. He must have snuck them out from time to time, because he has more than he could probably get away with in one trip.

“I try to keep it cleaned up, put my laundry away when it’s clean, make the bed.” Finral touches the bedspread and so Langris touches it, too. Worn but soft under his hands, and he can imagine how warm it must be on cold nights. “You like it, then?”

Langris nods and climbs up onto the bed, and Finral mirrors his movement from the other side of the mattress. Casual, Langris thinks, watching his brother lean back against the pillows, boots kicked off so he’s just in his socks. He folds his arms behind his head and doesn’t call Langris up to his side, doesn’t even  _ look _ like that’s what he wants, but it’s what Langris wants, and so he crawls up to Finral because he wants to touch him.

Finral spreads his legs for Langris to climb up between them instead of sitting in his lap, but Langris doesn’t mind that. It’s just as easy to reach him like this. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Finral murmurs, and the sunlight in the room gives a slight golden edge to his hair that makes the bright green swathe of it stand out even more. His eyes are violet and gold and Langris’s heart thuds, thuds,  _ thuds _ against his ribcage. His big brother is so pretty.

“Do I have to have my own room?” Langris touches his chest, feels Finral’s heart beating firm and steady under his own hand. Just a little faster than normal, he thinks, and that makes his cheeks pink slightly. “We can just have one room. Get another bed, maybe.”

Finral chuckles softly and seems to consider. He shifts his arms, frees up a hand to cup Langris’s cheek, and Langris presses into his touch needily. He feels grounded now, more certain of everything. Finral is alive, and healthy, and fine, and now Langris is, too. “I wonder if you can blush so dark that the markings on your face blend into it.”

“Don’t say that,” Langris whines, but Finral only laughs and kisses his forehead, directly over one eye. Where the marking there curls in on itself. “Nii-san blushes, too.”

“That I do.” Finral kisses under his eye this time, and Langris shivers slightly at the warm brush of his brother’s lips on his skin. “But I’m sure I don’t look half as cute as you do when you blush. So, you want to stay in my room with me? Why would  _ that _ be, Langris?”

The obvious reason, of course. But more than that. Langris always felt safest at home when he was curled up in Finral’s arms, pressed against his chest. Even right before he woke up that night— the night that truly led to all of this, he realizes— Langris felt safe that close to him. Finral is so warm and nothing calms and comforts Langris like being wrapped in Finral’s arms, knowing his big brother would do anything to protect him.

Not that he  _ needs _ to be protected, not now. He’s free, and that makes his heart soar.

Finral is teasing him but Langris knows what answer he expects. He doesn’t answer in words at all. Instead, he plants his hands on Finral’s chest and leans up just enough to bring their lips together. It makes his skin prickle, hot and sudden, making him all too aware of how he’s kneeling between his big brother’s widespread thighs.

“Is that why?” Finral’s hand is warm as it braces against his back— Then pushes so that Langris falls against his chest. “I don’t see why we can’t arrange that.”

Langris will probably never use the second bed when he can just crawl into Finral’s, or maybe he can make a convincing case for why he wants to share his brother’s bed for a while. Everyone in the Black Bulls saw how dire his condition was when he first met them, so maybe all he has to do is explain that he only really feels safe with Finral right now. It doesn’t sound strange and maybe they’d even expect that from him.

Finral made it sound like Henry can just…  _ See _ around the house, though, but Langris thinks it should be fine. Probably. Nobles intermarry all the time as is necessary.

“Does nii-san want to share his room, though?” Langris asks, shivering when Finral cups the back of his head, lips brushing against his cheek, down to the corner of his mouth.

“If it’s with my cute little brother, I don’t see why not. I said I’d take care of you and I meant that.” Finral tips his head back and Langris leans up for another kiss, shuddering at how soft Finral’s lips are against his own. He didn’t think he’d like kissing anyone, but that was back when he wasn’t in control of his future and had no idea who he’d marry.

Langris likes kissing Finral. The slow, gentle press of his kisses are soft and warm, and when his tongue brushes Langris’s lower lip, Langris licks him in return. It still makes his stomach feel all hot and strange, but he doesn’t feel sick. Just… Overheated, like he’s been sitting in the sun too long. A little strange, like a twist in his gut he doesn’t understand because nothing is happening. Just Finral licking into his mouth.

And he likes that. He twists his hands up in Finral’s shirt and kisses him back as much as he can, struggling to keep up because he’s still not really used to doing this. But he’ll get used to it and then he’ll get better at it, especially if they share a room and do it all the time.

“Come here,” Finral murmurs, and Langris squeaks as he’s pulled tight to Finral’s chest before their bodies roll on the mattress. He’s under Finral then, his hands still braced against his brother’s chest. “You want me to take care of you, don’t you, Lan?”

“Please,” Langris says, because it’s the first word that comes to mind.

“Oh, believe me, I want to.” Finral kisses him again, and Langris squirms under him because Finral’s body on top of his feels… Different, but  _ good _ different. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Langris gasps, one foot kicking against the mattress when Finral kisses the side of his neck, lips trailing down to here his cape rests against his skin. That’s different than when Finral kisses him on the mouth, but he likes that, too.

His stomach gives a few nervous flips but he isn’t afraid at all, pulling at Finral’s shirt to let his brother know he wants him as close as he can get him. And Finral stays right on top of him, kissing up the front of his throat, on the chin, and then on the mouth again.

A sharp knock at the door interrupts their little moment and Finral rolls off of him while Langris scrambles to sit up. His heart hammers in his ribs at the thought of someone catching them when Finral probably hasn’t said anything about them— when would he even have the  _ time _ to explain that— but the door is still closed. Waiting for them to answer.

Finral fixes his rumpled shirt and stands, tipping Langris a quick wink before walking over to the door to answer it. The man on the other side is unfamiliar to Langris, the shock of bright scarlet hair contrasting sharply with pale, pale skin. That’s a  _ bright _ color.

It makes him think of the fae and their bright, vibrant wings.

“Sorry to bother you, Fin,” the man says, and he leans against the doorway. His cape does nothing to hide the fact that he looks almost nude from the waist up. “But we’ve got a visitor downstairs who wants to talk to you and your brother before you settle in.”

“Visitor?” Finral asks, and Langris slides off the bed to come join him. “Who’s here?”

The man smirks at them. “The Wizard King. So try not to keep him waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to god the blue balls are not on purpose


End file.
